Little Short

I have been blubbery over the last 2 or 3 days over that ugly old beat up arthritic senile schizoid sociopathic murderer 2011 falling into an open grave and cutting his own throat with his scythe.  Oh, how I hated that apparition: sickening eyes glowing green and orange and his mangy two-legged dog hanging from his white and yellow hair.  Death and garbage is all that man is about.

Who has taken his place?  A baby with open sores covering his tiny body.  His eyes are missing – anybody find them yet?  How tragic!  His ears look like earthworms that spent too long in the sun.  His IQ dances around the 30 point line and his little green spine doen’t fuse properly.

I ran into talked old-timer today while walking my ferret, an old hand at this and he informed me about how abysmal the quality of New Year’s babies has become lately.  “We’ll might have to switch over to chimps”, he bleated.

Yesterday was Sunday so today I must create a new bowel movement.  As I said when I, as best man, proposed a toast at my brother’s wedding, I have scheduled my bowels after much pleading and tears from both sides to perform every other day or 182 days a year.  I don’t give a damn about quantity, quality, safety or any other issue.  Just come out with or without a song and disappear.  By the way, the wedding guests fell over themselves giving me my 131st lifetime standing ovation.


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