So I woke up this morning in my Select Comfort bed inside my General Steel prefab housing structure to the dulcet tones of Mozart emanating from my Bose Acoustic Wave Radio. Through my hazy ring of peripheral vision remaining after my bout with macular degeneration (I knew I should have gotten on Optical Nutrition earlier in life!), I made out that the clock read 7:15. Or it might have said 9:15, I bought my glasses at Walmart.
“Damn!” I thought. “I only have fifteen minutes until Paul Harvey’s on.” Shaking off my Restless Leg Syndrome (or Gullible Patient Syndrome as my doctor called it-luckily he prescribed these miracle pills called Placebos), I ran to the shower. Luckily, my new tankless Rinnai hot water heater gave me immediate steaming pleasure, and I quickly washed off my naughty bits in time to tune in to Uncle Paul.
I washed down my Hi Health and Thera-Gesic with a nice glass of Citrical. Between that and the Smart Balance spread as an intestinal lubricant, I barely made it to the shitter in time to settle down with a nice issue of “Imprimis” from Hillsdale College. I caught up on the latest speeches by reactionary whackos transcribed in large print and small words for Harveyites everywhere to read them.
Then I realized what my life had become, that I was listening daily to the advice of a 97 year old dessicated bag of bones with a lisp like a Pheedo salesman. So I put my legally obtained handgun in my mouth and pulled the trigger.
…and now you know the rest of the story.