I guess it just isn’t enough that I stop beating my enemy to death with its own words. I have to kiss the gigantic mangina’s boo-boos THAT IT LEFT ME CHOICE BUT TO GIVE IT, pat it on its spongy little noggin–with the brain swinging all lonely inside like a 40 watt bulb trying to light an 80,000 square foot warehouse–and tell it, “ya put up a good fight, DUMBFUCK, especially with the way you were able to cripple my one hand with multiple crushing blows from various parts of your face.”
That is what it said it would do to somebody in court, right?
Anyway, I had thought it would be a nice gesture to leave him be for a couple of weeks following the as-yet-unconfirmed death of his wife. Let him do his imaginary grieving in peace. Rapidly it became clear that mourning his ball-and-chain was the furthest thing from his mind; he had other priorities:
- Smaller coffeepot
- Getting rid of her clothes and possessions
- Contacting the Organ Gift Registry, though the way I hear it, she had been giving gifts to people’s organs for many years (say, have you checked the THINKING MAN’S DOOM CLOCK lately?).
- New smartphone
- Rebranding itself from The Internet’s Most Famous Fat, Stupid, Untalented, Demented, Cyberstalking, Turdrolling Oedipal Podcasting Troll to The Internet’s Most Famous Fat, Stupid, Untalented, Demented, Cyberstalking, Turdrolling Oedipal Podcasting GRIEVINGEST GRIEFY GRIEVER THAT EVER DID GRIEVE A GRIEF Troll WIDOWER ELEVENTY.
- Proving once and for all that it loved its wife more than it hates John Hoge
- (Just fuckin’ with ya! That last point is the only truly funny joke it’s ever told.)
- Planning for where to keep the “cremains.” (Is that like a “cronut?” Half croissant, half remains? And how does it taste with mayonnaise filling?)
- And of course, it’s not A DUMBFUCK LIFE without another DUMBFUCK PODCAST. (Now there’s a concept! “THIS AMERICAN DUMBFUCK LIFE!” You can have that free of charge – let that be my Deli Tray of Condolence to you)
So when it became clear earlier today that his grieving was either complete or just a very convenient PPPM* contrivance, I decided that my little vacation from public blogging must come to a close.
The monkey is so obviously rested and itching to dance. And the show must go on, even if Blog Talk Radio keeps kicking you off the “air!” (take a freaking hint, would you?)
* PPPM – Poor, Poor, Pitiful Me