Initially, I was going to write a rant about stupid Trump and his prime time State Of The Union collective of words, in which he attempted to coerce Americans that a crisis of heart and soul, the likes of which no one has ever seen before composed of coyotes and gangs was upon us. Women and children will most likely become victims of uncontrolled illegal immigration. Worse, he subjected us to his ugly puss in a slow zoom close up. What the fuck was wrong with his squinty eyes? Uneven Botox® injections? Conjunctivitis is so 1990. And what was up with that insane breathing? If history repeats itself, in the case of Trump “the ignorant redundancy loop”, he was saying something he didn’t want to say. In short, this silly spectacle did not win over new Trump supporters. If he said sensible gun control in place of border wall, he would have. And now we return to The Grown-Ass Man, already in progress.
The grown ass man opened his eyes from unconsciousness. He was surrounded by angels playing harps. Everyone and everything was floating. Buoyancy was everywhere. He knew this place. It was heaven as it is portrayed in cartoons. With this knowledge, he was not surprised that St. Peter was standing behind a parking valet stand. St. Peter ran his finger across the large tome with glowing gold calligraphy and nodded. “You may pass.”
“It’s about time. I mean, I’m a grown ass man. I don’t need someone’s damn permission to do no nothing. I do what I want to do. That’s what a grown ass man does, and it’s in The Constitution too, thou shalt behave appropriately when they’re a grown ass man.” For reasons unknown, he winked to an invisible audience. More odd, there was a sound effect similar to the twinkling of a hero’s smile.