They’re There

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“I can assure you that there will be no there, there. That is to say, on the other side of life, after our flesh is consumed by worms and such, no one will be there to soothe us by saying there, there while patting us on the back.”

Since the White House has turned into a full-blown reality television show, I have been glued to the fake lying media. In particular, I have become a fan of the “The 11th Hour With Brian Williams.”

Brian Williams, not to be confused with the Chicago Bull basketball player who died mysteriously in a boating incident, his actual name was Bison Dele, was the trusted anchorman of the “NBC Nightly News.” Emphasis on ‘was’ due to his misrepresentation of events, which occurred while covering the Iraq War in 2003.

All of this is merely a preamble to the point at hand, when did the news start talking as if their audience were morons?

Whether it be the repetitive terms like gaslighting, optics, or drip drip drip, one has to wonder: are they dumbing down, or are we, as a cultural society, dumbing up? Worse, does it even matter anymore? And now, my impersonation of my favorite celebrity…

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I Want A Squirrel Just Like The Squirrel That Married Dear Old Dad

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The Eastern Gray Squirrel is best known for its thick eccentric accent and its extreme penny-pinching.

This was an unusual squirrel for many reasons. Foremost, he was 68 years old. His extended longevity allowed him the luxury to identify himself as male, and thusly name himself, Sammy. To put things in perspective, it is rare, probably impossible, for a squirrel to live more than 25 years, especially on the rugged gang-infested streets of South side Chicago.

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The Carnival Was In Town

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One of those hard to believe, but true facts. Whence the carnival comes to town, so too, do the carnies.

You know it’s an ass of a day when you have growing empathy for a piece of dog excrement because it’s not getting as much attention from the flies as the rotting carcass of a half-eaten raccoon. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The park was littered with half-eaten cotton candy, corncobs, styrofoam and plastic-coated cups. The trashcans overflowed with crushed Mexican beer cans and wedges of dried out limes.

Where once was green grass was now yellow something or another. Large tracts of land matted down like old man hair. This was the aftermath of Hickory Heights Round-Up Days. Every year, like self-imposed psoriasis, the carnival came.

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The Return Of The Great Flood

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In the very near future, everyone will agree that global warming will defeat and devastate mankind. Even the stubborn Republicans, who will fully admit that they knew it all along, but were merely playing devil’s advocate to force the science community to work harder, will demand a change.

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