As a proud proponent of morality, heterosexuality, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, the Holy Virgin Mother, and flossing, it is my duty as a God-fearing American to release for publication this diary. A diary written by a woman so diabolical that reading it would make Mephistopheles himself cut off his thirty eyes and cease his endless and evil masturbation. It would make Satan himself, deep in his Infernal Den, perched on his Throne of Corpses high atop the Mountain of Pope Skulls, in the Deepest Pits of Hell, where the only sounds are The Infinite Wailing of Infinite Souls, where the only light is cast by Elliot Smith’s Still Brilliant Genius, where the only smell is the Torturous Sulfur of Perpetual Sin, crap his pants in terror. And that evil crap would grow evil legs and run, run from this diary.
July 17th
Early this morning I headed to my Planned Parenthood office for an abortion. That bastard of a doctor kept telling me I wasn’t pregnant. I told him I didn’t care if I was pregnant, I just wanted an abortion. If time was a problem for him, I told him he could just womp on my womb with a 2×4 for a while.
July 18th
Broke into the pharmacy and stole fertility drugs. I’ll set the record for most fetuses aborted in a single procedure, just like I promised my mom I would, before I aborted her!
July 19th
Impregnated myself with the stolen sperm of Jerry Falwell, taken from the discarded condom of his evil succubus mistress sent by me to discredit the moral leaders of America by driving them into acts of depravity against their will. I then had an abortion, or as I like to say, I willfully murdered a little living baby.
August 4th
Secured grants from the ACLU, National Endowment for the Arts, and the gay wing of the Episcopalians to fund an army of homosexuals with the sole purpose of infiltrating families, seducing Christian men and women, performing unspeakably erotic acts with them, and then causing divorces. Goddess bless the Gay Anti-Family Agenda. Thank you GAFA!
September 25th
I preach the importance of abortion as contraception to middle school students in Biloxi, Mississippi.
October 25th
Appeared live on Oxygen and Lifetime, commanding all women to cast down their vacuums and stop cleaning their many ovens. They will march into the street and “hook up” with whatever single men may be available there, abort any resulting preg-nancies, and then fall into the arms of the many lesbians in my homosexual army.
November 10th
Tricked women into getting abortions by replacing communion wafers with RU-486.
December 25th
In a poorly thought out statement of religious irony, I crucify Bill O’Reilly on Christmas Day. On a cross of aborted fetuses, no less.
Although our president’s exploits in the Texas Air National Guard are well documented, Mr. Bush has done even more to help the world as a member of Her Majesty’s Secret Service.
(The Briefing)
AGENT: Your mission, Agent Bush, should you choose to accept it, is to break into the Oil Refinery Compound and locate certain documents. The director of the compoundGAA
BUSH: Steve Harrison.
AGENT: Right. He’s been funneling money to the junta inGAA
BUSH: Man, I haven’t seen old Stevie in YEARS! Steverino! GREAT golfer!
AGENT: Yeah, so you’ll need to slip this into his favorite drink.
BUSH: Tom Collins. Steverino loves a good Tom Collins.
AGENT: We’ll be working with the local government’s secret service.
RICO: Hello sir. I am Enrico Gonzalez and IGAA
BUSH: [Noticing agent] No kidding. Hey Rico Suave, could you go in the back and pick us up a Tom Collins. Oh! And a margarita. Andale.
AGENT: Huh? Bush, this is the head of the foreign service. You shouldGAA
BUSH: Yeah, make it two.
(The Gadget laboratory)
Q: Pay attention, Agent Bush. We have a variety of gadgets for you to work with.
BUSH: Wonderbar.
Q: First we have a special SUV, with ejector seats, missiles, the whole bit.
BUSH: What mileage does it get?
Q: 6.5 per gallon.
BUSH: Awesome. That’s really, really awesome.
Q: We also have a watch thatGAA
BUSH: What mileage does that SUV get again?
Q: 6.5
BUSH: Ha ha! That’s so great!
(Debriefing)
BUSH: So the papers detailed their plan to buy up all the water in California and hold the state hostage.
AGENT: Incredible. How did you stop them?
BUSH: Huh? Oh, well when I realized the nature of the problem I called up the California authorities right away.
AGENT: And then?
BUSH: I explained that it wasn’t the federal government’s job to bail them out and that they should probably just let the free market run its course.
(In Kucinich’s Sequoia Treetop Lair)
KUCINICH: So, Agent Bush, at last you are in my foul clutches. I think a nice injection of sodium pentothal will loosen your tongue.
BUSH: You’re mad, Kucinich! You and your army of woodland creatures will never triumph.
KUCINICH: Hmm. Can’t seem to find a vein…
BUSH: Oh, you have to shoot it between my toes. [Pause] Huh, thought I had a vein left there.
KUCINICH: Damn you Bush!
(Undercover)
LIBERAL: And we’d like to welcome another member to our Liberals for World Domination Group!
BUSH: Hola! I love all kinds of animals and trees, and uh, taxes…
LIBERAL: Are you really a liberal, Comrade Ushbay? Something about you seems… familiar.
BUSH: What? Sure I’m a liberal! Look, my hair is mussed up. I haven’t showered. [Awkward silence]
BUSH: So, when do we go give hand jobs to homeless people?
(Escaping Burning Lair)
BLONDE: Quickly, Agent Bush! There isn’t much time! Start the plane!
BUSH: Yeah. I’ll, uh… I’ll…
BLONDE: Hurry! Can’t you fly??
BUSH: [In tears] I can’t! I CAAAANN’T!
Lying to children is fun and easy. Observe the following commonplacelies, and then find a small life to ruin.
Lie: With hard work you can be anything you want to be.
Truth: Try as you might, kid, but you’ll never be Harlem Globetrotter Legend William “Pop” Gates. That train’s passed, and you weren’t on it.
Lie: If your hand is bigger than your face then you have cancer.
Truth: If your hand is bigger than your face then you have cancer of the hand.
Lie: Every time a bell rings an angel gets its wings.
Truth: Every time a dog is shot an angel gets a high five.
Lie: Your father left to get cigarettes. He’ll be back in 20 minutes.
Truth: You’re genetically inclined to get hand cancer. Your father will be back in more like an hour.
Lie: It’s not whether you win or lose, its how you play the game.
Truth: Your father isn’t getting cigarettes; he’s “sorting some things out.” And sure it’s cute now, but by the time you’re 15 that bump will be a full scale deformity.
Lie: It’s not your fault we’re getting divorced.
Truth: It’s our fault for losing ourselves in one moment of passion in an IHOP parking lot off of I-5. It’s your fault we’re getting divorced.
Lie: Someday you can grow up to be President!
Truth: You are an ethnic minority. And a woman. It is genetically probable you are gay.
Lie: You could even be a Firefighter!
Truth: It is genetically probable you are gay, so yes, you can be a firefighter. Indian or Police Chief would also be acceptable answers.
Lie: If you keep making that face, it’ll freeze like that.
Truth: Your face cannot freeze like that because it is in a happy expression, and soon you will want to cry.
The day after I graduate is a time of rebirth, a time to lock away my childhood-to-young-adult years in the safe deposit box of memory and to open the checking account of adulthood. Here is how that day will go:
5:00 AM:
Wake up sporting full, bushy adult mustache and silvering hair. Put on tie. Go to breakfast: crumpets dunked in coffee. Pour Grape Nuts straight down throat. Swallow.
5:30 AM:
Check e-mail. Begin deleting messages from Chancellor begging alumni for money.
5:50 AM:
Message deletion completed. Begin deleting money-begging messages received since 5:30 AM.
5:55 AM:
Message deletion completed.
6:00 AM:
Remove Reservoir Dogs poster from wall and replace with stock ticker. Throw out old Simpsons and Mr. Show DVDs, replace with Viagra medication and mortgage payment notices. Put on tie. Make dinner reservations at Le B+A3teau Ivre and Rivoli’s for two. Order college diploma, paying an outlandish amount of money for the pleasure.
7:00 AM:
Go outside. Remove homemade Reservoir Dogs bumper sticker from car, which is now magically a Volvo. Sign up for life insurance policy to be paid to eventual wife. Bitch about neighbor’s lawn and practice my putting.
9:00 AM:
Arrive at job at brokerage. Put on tie. Have trouble with colon when going to the bathroom. Resolve to eat more roughage. Mentally start calling my pants “slacks” or “trousers” instead of “pants.” Look up “roughage” at dictionary.com.
5:00 PM:
Arrive home from work in minivan. Go through wardrobe and throw out the hilarious ties I have, as well as any shirts with words on them, unless those words end with “utual fund.” Drinking habit stops being “partying attitude” and “wild college years” and starts being alcoholism. Throw out the non-classy alcohol and replace it with brandy and whiskey that I’ll never drink. Begin drinking wine for reasons besides impressing girls with my sophistication.
6:00 PM:
Switch e-mail address from ‘funkitup5@live105.com’ to ‘Kevin.Edward.deenihan.Sr.Esquire@comcast.net’
7:00 PM:
Realize that my life has become an empty collection of half-fulfilled dreams and a growing fear of death, supplemented only by a growing urge to procreate and a need to hoard what’s left of my life. Switch voting registration to Republican.
8:00 PM:
Rediscover my fear of death. Search: “church confessions how long do they last” on Google. Novelty clock that supposedly ticks down to my death stops being amusing and starts being ominous.
9:00 PM:
Go play round of golf. On the ninth hole, shoot a deer.
10:00 PM:
Bug eventual wife for sex.
10:10 PM:
Fall asleep, wearing underpants as symbolic of my new adulthood. Tie stays.
1:15 AM:
Chancellor knocks on door and asks for money. Put several dimes in his hat.
Three Years Later:
Diploma arrives in mail.
Biochemical researchers at Dow Chemical have reportedly been disappointed with the results of their recent turtle mutation experiment. The research group had hoped to create feisty six foot tall ninja turtles through the use of chemical waste.
Head researcher Geoff Trieu explained, “For the most part, the turtles all just sort of sit there, shedding their skin and struggling to breathe. We tried adding more chemical waste, but nothing helped.” He continued, “I guess we should’ve expected this. We got the same results on the human subjects.”
Hopes were raised when they observed what they believed to be a tiny hand growing from the back of one of the turtles, but after attempts to place nun chucks in the hand met with only blank stares from the turtle, it was decided that the hand was actually a tumor and not capable of kung-fu gripping action.
Reports that the groups’ next project would involve the creation of hypersonic hedgehogs could not be confirmed at this time.
The continued life of Stewart Albey, 86, remains a source of huge frustration to his protege, Scott Toler, say sources.
Albey, a retired journalist, continues to live despite using his wit and wisdom to turn around the life of Toler, who was having a mid-life crisis. While Toler was at first grateful, Albey’s continued health has begun to jeopardize his upcoming memoir, Weekends with Stewart.
“On the day he told me that all of life is like a pearl in a river, I was so sure he was going to turn around and say “Plus I have cancer.” Said a bitter Toler. “But he’s in great shape. When he last went to the doctor’s he got a nurse’s phone number. Man, half the book is about the importance of letting go. Where’s the narrative justice?”
