The Daily Fix

I happened to see the telling-vision on in the smoking room of our nursing home that president-elect Bo-rock Obadiah had revealed his revised health-care plan this Tuesday, due to “predicted economic shortfalls.” I don’t exactly know why the hell that damned infant was prattling on about, but all this “hope” and “change” makes me feel like when nursie comes ’round with the Pampers, all ready to go with her latex gloves and surgical mask. Like I needed that feeding tube anyway. I’m a man in the prime of his youth, a spritely 170 years of age! Anyhow, as I lay on my side attempting to take as much pleasure as I could from the repeated violations of my inner colon, I thought of how long we’ve come since Waltie and I used to engage in all types of infernal sodomy together while displaying large hand-drawings of Honest Abe. How long it’s been since the injuns started taking my money at the lever-coin-box, and how I tried to get my godly revenge. Perhaps they may have scalped the general, but that is no matter. I recall how I fought to keep the darkys free at Gettysburg, even though at that time even Abe (oh, Abe! would that I could taste your beard once more!) didn’t really care about them. I know this because once, when I was rubbing a tasteful lithograph of Him, He spoke to me. “Maurice,” he rumbled, “Maurice, you must fight to preserve the union!”
    “But what of the darkys, sir?” I queried, my free hand trembling mightily as though ’twere a maple leaf upon the breeze of a soft autumn’s day in the cem- [editor's note: at this point the transcript becomes illegible due to the screaming]
    “The darkys! Hah!” Lincoln replied after the [potentially offensive phrase deleted]. “I care not a whit for the darkys!” And that was that. Any-how, I saw this pup Black-A-Rama, and I thought to myself, “now here’s a boy who needs help if he’s going to be a president someday.” And so, I made a list of things he should do.

-F.C. W. stands for “Free Colonoscopy Wednesday,” and if an old dying man is going to continue engaging in his solitary pleasure without descending into a bottomless pit of deblitating debt (or B.P.D.D. for short), I believe many Americans (Northerners at least) should become familiar with this phrase.

-This whelp might also want to invest in whatever sun-tan lotion that young Jackson fellow stole from a white man! He may be powdering himself up for the T.V., but he’s just not trying hard enough.

-He should also send the cavalry to defeat those Towel-Heads in the Central East. The impudence of such Turks is over-whelming, to presume that we are to kneel in their direction! Luckily, Custer’s Best should show them the mounted fury of the United States’ unlimited military and technological prowess.

-Have him stop them from making those interruptions in-between the commercials for Jack Lalanne’s Power Juicer! For a young, ignorant boy, that Lalanne sure knows how to make a Juicer!

-Give me back my driver’s license.

“why am i doing this?” as if he didn’t know. come on, pal, you aren’t dangling by your legs from the top of a building because you were forced into it, you’re there because you want to be. very insignificant, the way i randomly blew down your front door with shotgun and demanded your wife and children’s support in my crusade to put to rest the seemingly unending tyranny that was the methadone clinic’s monthly bills. the credit card company, too, may have had something to do with it. those calls…
in any case, it was really your choice to come down the stairs in your nightgown and slippers. your little bedtime-hat was so cute, with its tassel! you shouldn’t have tried to take away my megaphone, though. that was how you decided you wanted this for yourself. the megaphone is what gave me my power, and when you batted it from my hands angrily, you really did seal your fate. “what the hell are you doing, upsetting my family at this hour?” well, it was pretty obvious, asshole; i had just stated my purpose beforehand. i mean, christ. if you’re going to be purposefully obtuse, you might as well have just asked me to shoot you. i admit, that’s not really being obtuse, but i can’t think of anything very obtuse right now. for a department-store Santa, i’ve got quite a lot of clarity. well, i’m not really a department-store Santa. i kind of needed some type of excuse for being on people’s roofs, though, and after a while, the chimney-sweep gig ceased to be viable. actually, it ceased to be viable immediately after they found me naked in the Smithsons’ chimney. and the Wests’. oh, those halcyon days of chimey-sweeping. i didn’t ever have an inkling i’d ever return to a client’s house, but i took a shine to your wife after i went through your trash and i found love letters from her to the garbage-disposal man. in any case, i got to thinking: why not me? i’m not married. i go to all the popular bars and clubs, often in disguises, but somehow they always seem to catch on i’m a bear. in any case, buddy, i had you at hello. the shotgun helped persuade you (although i’m afraid your little gambit with attempting to wrest it from my paw went amiss; sorry about the left leg!), and when i found out your wife had left you and taken the children, i knew this would be easier than with all those Santas in the dressing room. so here we are, on top of the retirement home. i guess i’m sorry about a lot of things, not in the least about binding you to the edge with your own belt. but you know what? you’ll have the senile old people to keep you company. them and the pigeons. gonna go catch a train, bye!

“why am i doing this?” as if he didn’t know. come on, pal, you aren’t dangling by your legs from the top of a building because you were forced into it, you’re there because you want to be. very insignificant, the way i randomly blew down your front door with shotgun and demanded your wife and children’s support in my crusade to put to rest the seemingly unending tyranny that was the methadone clinic’s monthly bills. the credit card company, too, may have had something to do with it. those calls…
in any case, it was really your choice to come down the stairs in your nightgown and slippers. your little bedtime-hat was so cute, with its tassel! you shouldn’t have tried to take away my megaphone, though. that was how you decided you wanted this for yourself. the megaphone is what gave me my power, and when you batted it from my hands angrily, you really did seal your fate. “what the hell are you doing, upsetting my family at this hour?” well, it was pretty obvious, asshole; i had just stated my purpose beforehand. i mean, christ. if you’re going to be purposefully obtuse, you might as well have just asked me to shoot you. i admit, that’s not really being obtuse, but i can’t think of anything very obtuse right now. for a department-store Santa, i’ve got quite a lot of clarity. well, i’m not really a department-store Santa. i kind of needed some type of excuse for being on people’s roofs, though, and after a while, the chimney-sweep gig ceased to be viable. actually, it ceased to be viable immediately after they found me naked in the Smithsons’ chimney. and the Wests’. oh, those halcyon days of chimey-sweeping. i didn’t ever have an inkling i’d ever return to a client’s house, but i took a shine to your wife after i went through your trash and i found love letters from her to the garbage-disposal man. in any case, i got to thinking: why not me? i’m not married. i go to all the popular bars and clubs, often in disguises, but somehow they always seem to catch on i’m a bear. in any case, buddy, i had you at hello. the shotgun helped persuade you (although i’m afraid your little gambit with attempting to wrest it from my paw went amiss; sorry about the left leg!), and when i found out your wife had left you and taken the children, i knew this would be easier than with all those Santas in the dressing room. so here we are, on top of the retirement home. i guess i’m sorry about a lot of things, not in the least about binding you to the edge with your own belt. but you know what? you’ll have the senile old people to keep you company. them and the pigeons. gonna go catch a train, bye!