Ah, nice of you to stop by. Be warned, though, that you’ve caught me in the master bath, where I’m currently giving birth to a particularly onerous bowl movement while perusing the morning news reports. What can I say? I take great enjoyment in life’s simple pleasures.
That’s the good part. The better part is that one of my vilest enemies, deranged Chick-fil-A founder S. Truett Cathy, died this morning at the age of 93. I believe the cause was syphilis, but to be honest I haven’t read the article and therefore can’t swear by my prognosis.
Granted, Cathy was close friends with my late father, Oswald J. Carver Jr., but I wouldn’t have pissed on one of the Jesus freak’s chicken sandwiches to save his life. I’m sure you can understand, given the long history of bullying — and fat-shaming — I endured from that mummified skidmark of a man.
I will say this for Cathy, though: He was as staunch a Republican as you’re likely to meet in this or any life. And Sainted Mother of Nixon, did he hate gay people!
At any rate, I’ve decided to take the day off to celebrate at my favorite strip club, Boobs-a-Poppin’, after which I will fulfill my promise from March 12 of last year to — and I quote — “…drop a king-sized deuce with [Cathy’s] grave’s name on it.” Until my next sporadic update, toodle-oo.
Front page S. Truett Cathy photo source: Wikipedia