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."


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