PriorBlog

Last night I hastily put together a quick post which advocated an expansion of the second amendment in order to facilitate a coup by the type of people who wear Che Guevara t-shirts in exclusive urban neighborhoods. I say hastily because I was at a crossroads where I wanted to add something to my little website, but at the same time, the computer’s battery was running low, and I didn’t want to deal with getting the charger out. To date, it was the quickest post that I have ever written, although it’s not as though I haven’t had those thoughts swimming around in my head for a while. After the juice went out off the computer I went to bed, where I tossed and turned for a few hours before the police came. Their helicopters woke up the entire neighborhood.

At first I thought they were coming for me, so I told Bambi what I had done, and gave Hazel a kiss goodbye, thinking as I did so that I would probably never see her again, since visitors are not allowed at SuperMax, no matter how cute.

I tried as best I could to prepare myself for the inevitable, but I have to confess when the front door was blown off, and the storm troopers came roaring up the stairs, I was pretty much a mess. After the dust had cleared enough to produce a dramatic effect, Mitt Romney breezed through the door surveying the condo with an imperial air about him. This imperial air mixed ominously with the aforementioned dust, and caused some bronchial spasms to Romney, who, it should be known, suffers from a debilitating form of asthma, the type of which renders him unsuitable, in my opinion, for the presidency.

Romney managed to sputter out the name of Alfonse, who, it turns out, had overstayed his visa. Alfonse, who was poking his head out from the room he rents from us, made an attempt to escape, but he was quickly netted and thrown into a large box with a few other illegal Laotians. The surge of relief that flowed through me when I realized it was Alfonse they were after can be compared to the feeling of being struck by a bolt of lightning, more specifically that type of lightning that zaps one with the feeling of absolute and unequivocal joy and leaves no burns.

After the police left (it turns out that Alfonse will be responsible for paying for the damages to their entrance [more joy!]), I found that I slept very soundly, and today I am in a very good mood.