I write this to you, the living, from an Airstream deep in the Mojave Desert somewhere outside Barstow. The 28k modem connection flickers in and out, and every time I go online everyone has to hear that beeeeeeeeeshhhquaaaaaahhhh noise. This is much worse than the Sequester, when we just had to slaughter ol’ Bessie for burger meat.
Tonight we had to bludgeon Aunt Myrtle and eat her for supper, on account of having had to barter the remaining creamed corn for shotgun shells. I told Ma to just keep praying and hope that Providence smiles upon us. Ma looked at me all mournful and said, “Prayer ain’t no good son. They done shet the guvermint down…they done shet the guvermint down…”
I thought it was right blameworthy for Ma to blaspheme such, but then something happened that made me think the good Lord just might be looking the other way. We went to sign up for our new free health care, and the darn fool web site was busted. Now Pa is going to have to pay for his gender reassignment surgery with Forever Stamps.
Don’t cry for me. I’m already dead.