The Daily Fix

Following up the wild success of all of my previous posts combined into a giant ball of paper and angry silicon will be hard, so the best attitude to take is one of noncommittal acceptance, tempered by arbitrary bouts of extreme rage. This will come in handy when I have to chew through the cleverly-constructed T-Shirt Gag (R) my captors have made me wear, but not so much when I find out that I’m locked in the cupboard with a king cobra. Oh well. You can’t win them all, but if you try, at least your death will be horrible enough to merit the pretend-sympathy of others when they see it on the local news.

Which leaves me where I left off with this stupid story last time: being carried to an Alaskan Secret Gold Mine by the robotic version of my greatest enemy, Clefted Francoise. Things were looking pretty bad, seeing as the explosion had put me in a temporary coma and I had forgot my cancer-prevention kit at home (the cancer-prevention kit consists of a large knife, a small knife, a Luger, and a decanter of scotch. The scotch should always be drunk before the cancer prevention begins, of course.), leaving me completely susceptible to the robot implanting tumors in me via its retractable robot tumor-implanting devices, which are too numerous or fictional for me to catalogue here. In any case, I recall so well my entire life flashing before my closed, comatose eyes that hour or so we were in the air: being born in the state penitentiary to a man, sitting on Uncle Buck’s knee, going back to prison, prison, getting out of prison, sitting on Uncle Buck’s knee again, going back to prison… all like it was yesterday. Also there were some brief yet strangely lucid recollections of my travels of the world, which I’ll share with you idiots later if I get bored or if I can tear myself from Lalanne’s latest ingenious contraption.

At some point, the robot landed, and I stopped having horrific flashbacks to Taft’s inaugural gala, where I was anally brutalized by multiple hoboes in a gigantic punch-bowl while a group of anthropomorphic animals dressed in waistcoats and ascots stood outside of the glass, drinking merrily and chuckling at the spectacle. I was still in my coma, but the whole “life-before-my-eyes” thing stopped. It was the robot’s fault! I lay drooling on the dusty Alaskan ground in front of a middling-to-large cavern. It was obvious what Clefty Francoise’ plan was at this point: to dispose of me in the most efficient manner possibly…

to be continued…

When last I had left you, your dull eyes reflecting the page in front of you and the drool pooling in between the keys of your various typing apparati (I don’t think they’re really necessary, however. I mean, consider: all you horrible, filthy deviants do is use those things to cause pain and misery to innocent authors by spewing your nonsense all over the internet, depriving me of significant Google rankings), we were all of us together pondering upon the cruel fate Clefty Francoise seemed to have prepared for me. He and his spectacular moustache had absconded with my clefted readership via scorn due to previous comments, and if the particular evil of this action eludes you, think of this: with nothing to keep them indoors (for the clefteds are not allowed to use public computers), those walking pleas for post-partem abortions (the doctors have the little hammers for a reason, right?) will wander outside, and quickly frighten the weak (women, children, small animals, senior citizens) into mass suicide, for fear that Hell has risen anew and that Lucifer will be coming to reclaim them (the weak have no place in Heaven!). In any case, Clefty Francoise had obviously been plotting this for many a time, wasting many crayons and tiny pieces of paper on the designs.

I had to think of some way to thwart him, or at least pinpoint his location. I knew he had to be in hiding, because of the barometers and the weather-jacks, the various roosters and kitchen appliances gathered in the corner of the attic. I knew that was why that happened, all of a sudden in the middle of the night. Clefty Francoise! He was near, I could feel it!

I awoke the next day from an uneasy sleep, full of strange, sweaty visions of clefted Easter Island heads spinning in vortexes while bellowing nonsensical commands at me. I had Manuel fetch the paper, and then I lit it on fire and beat his behind with it, like normal. Poor Manuel! I wouldn’t hit him if he didn’t scream so much, and in such a high pitch. I poured myself a mug of whiskey with a little bit of coffee in it, and then finished off the Tortoise Surprise we had prepared last month (it had been sitting on the table for too long!). It was then that I saw out of the yellowing, grimy windows into my backyard: Clefty Francoise had left his mark: a bomb!

I awoke the next day from an uneasy sleep, full of [stricken due to repetition]

In any case, the bomb went off. I saw in the corner of my eye the Clefty Francoise-bot whirring and sieg-heiling its way towards me as I lay bleeding and unconscious on the lawn. In my shrapnel-induced coma, I could see that my troubles had just begun…

to be continued…

Well, readers, it’ll come as no surprise to you stupid bastards that I have very little patience for your shenanigans. The stupid asshole on the Obama post and Chuck’s initial rebuttals prove that. However, sometimes something more noxious and foul than true ignorance and fetid naivete arises from my readership. I fear the other day such a thing reared its hideous, clefted face.

You may recall my most recent post (not this one). It made some perfunctory remarks on the state of cosmetic advertising in this society; nothing out of the ordinary. Imagine my surprise when in the mail, this morning, I saw a letter addressed to me. It said a lot of things, most of them hurtful and unnecesary to reprint, but the main gist, which I will reproduce here sans editing, goes like so:

“Dear Maurice:
although we here at the Clefted Abnormally Nasty-faced Anti-Defamation Association have regularly enjoyed spending our lunch breaks at the monitor, enjoying your nigh-inhumanly delectable prose, as of late a certain situation has come up that we can not ignore. This would be your intentional defamation and degradation of the Clefted Community, a community that feels it can take its pride of place among those who are not differently-faced without showing shame or breaking down in tears and purchasing brown paper bags in bulk so as to hide their disgracefully deformed appearance. As it is, we, sir, are deeply offended, and will as such be revoking the millions of dollars of funding we would otherwise have provided for you.

-C.A.N.A.D.A.”

as you can see, I had a considerable problem. However, I noticed something that only the most intensely trained of eyes could percieve, a detail at first so insignificant that it would seem to be nonexistant. I can assure it wasn’t so. As it is, you must discover ti for yourself, by breaking into my home, stealing the ashes of the burnt original letter from my waste-paper basket, piecing them together slowly and painstakingly, and then spending years poring over the damn thing with a spyglass to find it, for I’ve no reason to give it away here. This discovery led me to a conclusion, which I will share with you (be glad!): the perpetrator of this theft could only be my archnemesis, Clefty Francoise!

We had done time together way back when, Clefty Francoise and I. Until the 3rd year of his sentence, he had lurked in the shadows of his cot, only daring to scuttle out crab-like in the dark of the night to retrieve the crumbs of his dinner. However, when he learned I was to be released on good behaviour, he warmed to me, and showed himself one night. After I had beaten him off of me, I saw his face in the moonlight. I shrieked in horror, for his lower jaw had a cleft in it at least two inches in width!! His moustache and numerous prison tattoos distracted me from the horror of his malady, however, and soon we became wary friends. He told me of the gold mine he had discovered in the Northwest Territories, and how it might be ours someday, when we were free…

to be continued…