As I sat there with the dessert menu I thought

As I sat there with the dessert menu I thought back to that summer day I'd made myself sick eating the whole bucket of blueberries and the folks at the church picnic never got

the stain out of their Martyrdom of St Sebastian quilt. I ordered some cheese. Something was sticking out of the Roquefort -a SIM card. I licked it clean & put it in my phone. It r

eprogrammed my phone into a conspiracy theory scanner. I pointed it a their quilt. My phone showed that the stain in their quilt was actually a

a sweat stain from Richard Nixon. Apparently Nixon had slept in the Lincoln bedroom and basically, sweated up the joint. This of course confirmed my conspiracy. I am sure

You can see it yourself by now. Nixon was using sweat magick to communicate with a dead Lincoln. From one Republican to another, Lincoln help guide Nixon through his 1st term as P

ee trickled down Nixon's legs. Lincoln drew a line through the end of the maze on his hamburger placemat in one try, helping Nixon reach the milkshake and chips. "Yum yum!" Abe

Lincoln exclaimed into Nixon's waxy ear, in an attempt to make him feel better about his complete incompetence. But Nixon stared away in silence. The afterlife was not as appealing

as Nixon thought it would be, scared he’d meet dead members of his Enemies List. “Let me make this perfectly clear,” he told all who’d listen, “the afterlife [expletive deleted]!”

His listeners knew how trustworthy he was, so a line formed of innumerable people who wanted to experience the Afterlife. Nixon was appalled to find himself

venerated as the Saint of San Clemente. That made Nixon a saint on another saint's turf. "You're not a saint yet," said San Clemente. Nixon growled at him. "We'll see about that."