Goodbye, yellow prick toad

I'm a bad blogger. It's true. I suck. Not at writing, mind you; at that I rock like a black leather jumpsuit on Jessica Alba. No, I suck at actually sitting down and consistently producing. It's sad, because I tend to spew wretched brilliance on a pretty frequent basis, whether it's in casual conversation or commenting on OTHER people's blogs -- but when it comes to my own, well, the cobbler's kids have no shoes.

Yet here I am. So you know there must be a reason -- an important reason, even. Though it's likely that nobody will even read this, since any fan base I could have once had has rightly evaporated like so much Everclear on a pie plate in the Arizona sun. But that's okay, because, you see, I'm here for ME. That's right; this one is a joyous celebration of life. And death. Because, my friends (if anyone is listening), not only is Jerry Falwell STILL dead, but now that bastard Jesse 'Caveman' Helms has joined his old bosom buddy in the Great Beyond.

Another evil Hypocritical Religiofascist Neanderfuck gets crossed off my list, and I was here, alive -- gloriously alive -- to see it.

Next time I encounter a cockroach crawling out of a sewer drain, I will pause and reflect, perhaps letting it live another day instead of crushing it in disgust -- because maybe reincarnation exists, and if so, I want you to savor your new life, Jesse. And your new diet.

Otherwise, RIP, asshole. Luckily for you, there's no such thing as Hell -- except for the one you and your kind created here on Earth for the rest of us.


* * *