COMMENTARY
Your mother arguments originated in Mexico in the 1950s. In a country where the mother is revered as the giver of life, it was considered a personal insult to have your mother accused of sexing anyone who would show her some kindness.

Your mother insults fall into several categories;

FINANCIAL : you're so poor your mother has to get pissed on Lambrini.

SEXUAL : your mother does full greek with titanium dildos.

BEHAVIOURAL : your mother snorts low-grade crack cut with Vim, which is the closest she ever gets to cleaning your council house.

Combinations can also prove effective.

FINANCIAL + SEXUAL : Your mother gives head to Big Issue vendors 'cos she can't afford to pay for a copy.

SEXUAL + BEHAVIOURAL: Your mother reveals her flapping assets to pigmys in the vain hope that they will give her the tablets that she needs to stop her going mental.

FINANCIAL + BEHAVIOURAL :
Your family are so poor that the only games you can afford to play at Christmas are physical abuse and suffocating each other with carrier bags. That's why your mother turned out to be the Moors Murderer, Myra Hindley. It's the only life she understands.

TRIPLE COMBO WHAMMY
A checkmate move. To use one ineffectively is to seal your own fate. Why not try;

"The only reason your mother is so fat is that she's so poor she's got that malnutrition belly that Ethiopians get. She takes photos of the inside of her ass with an endoscope and tries to encourage lesbians to press it in further so it comes out her mouth and she can pop balloons with it. Cos that's what she loves."

At 9:30 this morning, a small argument broke out when it was suggested by Steven Hill, 11, that his classmate didn't wash his clothes, ever. It was added, almost as an afterthought, that perhaps his mother was too drunk to be bothered with the laundry. Matthew Stephenson, the offended party, suggested in return that Steven's mother was the star of several pornographical motion pictures, and everyone had seen them.

It should have ended there - however, the teacher responsible for the boys had nipped across the hallway to get some more fibre tip Berol handwriting pens - and had been murdered, castrated, and half-eaten by the headmaster in an unexpected display of grotesquery. There was still twenty minutes before the bell would ring - and the argument would be left to follow its course.

SEX WITH A HUNCHBACK

In the classroom, the price that each respective mother would charge on the street corner for full unprotected sex with a hunchback was dropping quickly, until Matthew insinuated that Steven's mother was such a determined nymphomaniac that she would actually pay the hunchback. Seeing that dropping the price even further would no longer work, Steven then asserted that Matthew should know. It was, after all, how his deformed father earned all his money, since he was sacked from the colliery for putting half the coal up his arse.

YOUR MOTHER'S MOTHER AND HER MOTHER BEFORE HER

Without pausing for breath, Steven indignantly insists that Matthew's mother had been seen with the vacuum cleaner attached to one nipple, whilst she pinched at the other with her cheap false fingernails like whores wear, and going "oo! oo!" in the High Street. Matthew's grandmother made a surprise appearance, getting piggy backs from the bodybuilders she pays to fuck her and she has to sit on top so that her hips don't break and she's got Alzheimers disease and poos herself and paints her bedroom with her own urine by lying on her back and spraying the walls. Not only did she do all this - she positively enjoyed it.

MATTHEW'S GAMBLE

Matthew, at this point looking wild and desperate, began to veer from the traditional Your Mother form and venture into bold new territory. He accused Steven's mother of shagging flamingoes, and hanging around the lakeside, hoisting her dirty petticoat above her head, and screaming that she could take the biggest fucking flamingo who cared to approach her, as her vagina had the shape and feel of a tattered windsock.

SPIRIT IT OUT

Stephen's eyes then rolled back in his head, as he appeared to channel his insult directly from the spirits. In a voice too deep for his few years, he directly accused Matthew's mother of being a wack-ass bitch, who don' got no money fo' nice dress, and be drinkin' cheap-ass vodka and sharing her shoes wi' her dirty bitch friends on the welfare. On top of all that, she be way skanky, y'hear?

END GAME

Matthew checked his watch. There was only thirty seconds left until the bell rang, so he had precious little time. He reasoned that if he moved backwards far enough, then ran forwards at the speed of sound, then all of his words would hit Stephen at once. This he promptly did (much to the delight of the girls), whilst giving utterance to the absolute your mother insult.

Half way through the insult, however, Matthew stuttered - and at such high speeds his tongue became hopelessly meshed. An unbuttoned sleeve caught the wind, billowed his shirt and sent him into a black spin. However, a split second before he collided with Stephen, the static build-up in his untidy hair caused a temporal overload, and the two were catapulted into Elizabethan England. Leaving only a pair of flaming tyre tracks.

As soon as we recreate the conditions and send a reporter back in time, coverage of the argument shall resume.