The following story is not intended to be humorous. Keep in mind, if you laugh, it’s on you, shame on you, because I have given you this warning. Trust me, this is the most difficult thing I have ever written. It has finally gotten through my thick head that these are serious times and I want to contribute change for the betterment of our divided nation. Originally, I thought my tilted point of view helps society, but it turns out my attempts at “humor”, especially all the failing, just further divides us. I will let the entertainers entertain, the pundits pund, the comedians comedy, while I delve into the horrifying underbelly of truth. And I know what you’re probably saying just after, “Shut the fuck up you arrogant jackass,” and that’s “Seriously, shut the fuck up.”
I pity myself for spewing stupid ha ha words in search of approval in the currency of stupid laughter. It is meaningless. This is not the time. It is time to be as serious as a Russian heart attack, which is to say Russians, not all of them, but a lot of them, tend to be more somber than Americans, case in point, Yakov Smirnoff. I rest my case. Yakov Smirnoff is a Soviet-born “comedian”, “actor”, and “writer”. After emigrating to the United States in 1977, like a flu virus, he spread his “comedy” and many of us got sick.
I do not want to be that guy who can’t answer his son when he asks, “Hey dad, you were an active citizen when all this b.s. went down, why didn’t you do anything?” Sadly, this would be my response. “I was blogging and writing quirky stories for an audience of fifty or so.” And how painful is it when your son looks through you like you’re nothing but the encrusted burnt cheese on aluminum foil after reheating a pizza? I don’t want to know this answer. That is why I have written this flash fiction manifesto. I would gladly give up one hundred likes if I can change one mind. With that, I present the story I believe may change your life. It changed mine.