Since the dawn of time, the story of fathers and mothers has been flourishing. Without a mother, and without a father, I enumerate father-mother, father-father. There are detestable fathers and heroic mothers. There are exemplary fathers and dick mothers. There are motherless fathers and mother-fathers. There are interim fathers and permanent fathers. There are imaginary fathers, fiction fathers, and fathers who cooperate perfectly. There are severe fathers and mercenary mothers, fathers who forbid and father-mission. There are bad fathers and extra-fathers. 10 mothers are not worth a father, even if 10 fathers without a mother are fathers, it's clear. There are fathers and great-fathers, like peers, who cooperate, forgetting commerce and the languages of life-fathers. There are re-mothers, who look for landmarks, refusing amorphous peppers. But the poor recover, the ex-fathers, from the divorce. There are outlandish fathers, who *** my mother's glands. The primary fathers, the faithful fathers, the personal fathers, who have the sea sickness. Those who leave the mothers vexed and the fathers plexed. Me, my father and my mother are outright out-fathers, and in the middle of this story, I take a few seconds, I temper, to say to my mother and my father, thank you. There is a candid mother and a loving father. There is a rigid and impermeable mother. There are absent fathers and used mothers. There are present mothers and fused fathers. There are spoiled mothers and loved mothers. There are fleeing fathers and beloved fathers. There is the interested mother, the city mother, the father's money in peril in front of the mother when he... There are food pensions, credit fathers, the weekend fathers and the Wednesday mothers. There are hyper-strong fathers and positive mothers, or the blues kicks, hyper-strong, the mothers without fathers, spectacular. But if the fathers are cut off, the father knows how to leave. And if the mother cries, it is the child who loses. But if the mother kills, the mother smokes, the magic awakens. And in the end, whether she is young or old, the mother watches. Me, my father and my mother are outright out-fathers, and in the middle of this story, I take a few seconds, I temper, to say to my mother and my father, thank you. There are mothers who despair because of lovers, perpetually in search of a man to perpetuate. There is the single mother, convinced of being nobody, and who waits in her chimney that behind the door a father rings. There are submissive mothers and impulsive fathers. There are beaten mothers and percussive fathers. There are mothers in trouble because of perverts, disturbed fathers. So there is the mother who breaks if there are spiky fathers. On the other hand, if the father and the mother are friendly and are going to get beaten, if I may, the voltage is 10,000 amps. Because when the father is in the mother and the mother gets the father, it is the rise of mercury, because the father beats and the mother mutates. The father beats his father and the mother laughs at this performance, at this impertinent performance. Such are the adventures of the hard father in the face of the ephemeral. Me, my father and my mother are outright out-fathers, and at the end of this story, I take a few seconds, I temper, to say to my mother and my father, thank you.