The whiny vaginy reality never measured up to the man cave dream. What Tommy wanted was a normal human being for a roommate, a decent fellow with the sense God gave a bag of wet dog hair, who always remembered that’s it’s a monumentally stupid idea to take disgusting deathbed photos of your roommate’s mother, email them unbidden to people you have sued and are suing, and blame THEM when the photos turn up in a court filing.
Oh, and he’s so white he colors up by eating rice with mayonnaise in a blizzard.
The reality was the Grouchy Liberal is a bad man, a slow, plodding DUMBFUCK who doesn’t have the skill to write in complete sentences, hold onto a job or a friend. Maybe he could throw a bigger tarp over his craycray if he added “resident of an assisted living facility” to his “recently widowed, late stage ELEVENTYFIVE Parkinson’s disabled senior citizen” shtick? But not even Christo (the artist, not the Savior) could fully cover up the Grouchy Liberal’s insanity.
So, with his laptop under his arm, half a life insurance settlement, his beloved microphone, a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red to wash down his medication,
a Hefty bag full of clothes and a fresh boot print on his wide backside, he nutshuffled his way (oh! The URN!!! Can’t forget the urn!) to his new Midwest home, to “reconnect with his Catholic heritage.”
Hey, Catholicism is a Christian religion, isn’t it? Weren’t the Catholics responsible for the CROOOOOSAAAAAYDEZ?? Evil, bad, naughty, intolerant Catholics!!
But I wouldn’t worry about the Grouchy Liberal. Some monkeys just never stop dancing.