Subtitled: now. Tis the intersection my mum long fostered and cross bred.

Upon the stead viz onset of adolescence spermatozoa ineluctably endowed by the creator with magical powers, which in conjunction with the chance encounter of an ova via heterosexual intercourse continue to remain regularly generated to help beget potential human life. Nature and nurture symbiotically caress, finesse, and impress genetic traits and/or penchant toward approximating maximization of opportunities for a progeny conceived, freed and immersed within linkedin opportunistic reproductive uterus.

If (only for the sake of this literary endeavor), let this pontificator presume that only positive influences march in lockstep from initial fusion (engendering fertilization of ovum, subsequent embryonic development and thence full term offspring), whereby a healthy baby born.

Though this process represented by the billions of people (whose existence wrought via ordinary sexual intercourse), a (well spring of testes) testament to the common occurrence, I still count the flicker of initial conception, (where a fledgling life cocooned within the womb until inherent latent processes decree existence to be most viable i.e. nine months plus or minus a small margin of error for simplicity sake).

Avuncular father time cozies in tandem with chromosomal blueprint draft, whereby just one copy drawn up with such perfection despite complex dimensions deriving the vast panoply of peoples that populate planet Earth.

Each individual stands unique, yet when taken together the Homo sapiens species also exhibits a manifestation as one huge organism forever enlisting driving force to remain predominant.

See, the basic laws codified by Abraham Maslow (and other social scientists).

One singular person may be married the madding crowd.

Though swallowed up in the morass of mankind, this sole surviving totemic unit subjected to the vagaries amidst briny sea of humanity, as an anonymous entity being shuttled from berth upon the wharf air of nascent life, and traversing thru the vital stages of growth, maturation than death be not proud without any accolades of bravado, cheers or daring do encapsulating fame, fortune, greatness, however indeed indulging joy kindled kudos loved maternally, nominally ordaining pacific personal quantum quirks re: salient traits unwittingly valued witnesses xx/ xy yearning zeal to sustain the genesis vis a vis via administering blinkered copulation, destining essential fecundity fitfully fostering gestation heralding incipient junior kickstarter learning manifold nuances of potent qualm residing supremely throughout uber ville willfully x yielding yoking zoological zygote to the next generation of vipers.

Ha.

Thru some fluke and/or series of chance fated and/or feted interceding loin ohm mar Onstar route unbridled xyz series of unrehearsed capital one ventures, an august jewel of exemplary talent shines brighter than the teeming horde.

He and/or she (perhaps even a coterie of blessedly denoted family honorably jinxed luckily, nabs press receiving tremendous vocalization exalting them to a nonpareil Sheppard did toward the zenith of renown) shines, whence inescapable klieg light denotes their every breathing moment.

Such happens to be the price line one pays for being ushered into the limelight, perhaps thru arduous, diligent gustatory jawboning mastering popularity, soaking vanity fair yodeling zealously for becoming breakout artist (and/or break danse mack hob brey sir) as doth this unknown scribe.

The small, medium, and large deterministic, humanistic, and mechanistic forces impossible to predict even enlisting the seer ring psalmist.

Though some richly quilted pampered ordained noteworthy muscled with a leg up as an heir rent lee heiress free (mostly) born into a crucible where favorable, joyous and plenti pollinating seeds tagged USDA (non GMO) undeniably advantageous to rubbing shoulders with folks doling out a Fancy Feast and Livingsocial, within a select tier of income earners.

Maybe many caught by happenstance into what appears as a glamorous modus operandi aint all that the trending Irish setters wag ideal.

Appearances can be deceptive, and oft times the mental exercise per speculating being wealthily famous disallows one their woe mannerly mandatory privacy.

As a contemplative, emotive, and hermetically sealed older chap (jousting with his own mundane tasks), the insurrection inflected from the ever scrutinizing mass media would deprive me of audacity, capacity, and ancillary duality for complicity sans fidelity toward humbleness versus braggadocio, which would become a one man amityville, concomitantly devoid of comity, decency, and essentially find myself spiraling psychotically into the depths of banality, depravity, and eventual futility, where humility wresting with the opposing forces of Manichaeism!

Unbeknownst to only a select few, this minimal popularity provides a shroud in case some issue spurs this generally docile dada to rant and rave in his rather pedantic persiflage.

When prone to step upon the figurative soapbox thy attention turns to factual or fictional characters, which seem unsullied by a sudden overnight fame.

Modesty vis a vis travesty that transformed their hitherto previous anonymity still retained despite the temptation to usurp the potent sword of recognition. Their ardor, candor, and debonair ebullience for gifted hoopla inlaid judiciously kindling laudable mindfulness.

Though unmoved to strike the mother lode sans cult of personality worship (yeah…that would be the day – maybe posthumously), this acutely bemused cerebral doodler evinces finding gratitude helping incrementally just kindnesses leavened momentarily nimbly offering pleasantness qua reaching satisfaction thru unbridled vibrant willfulness i.e. random acts of kindness that do not beggar for accolades, but merely bring a je ne sais quois esprit de corps of emotional, psychological and/or social philanthropy since my name haint flush within a warren buffet, whar billed gates describe a rich enclave, nor markedly stamped with a yum zucker blooming berg , or any other countless billionaire.

Mine crafted imagination doth allow, enable and provide the ways and means to meander in a world wide web of make believe, where the boundary between reality and illusory parameters becomes a blurred line.

Howl aye get from point a to point b, which literary distance greater than the breadth, length or width of the cosmos stymies me, thus some sort of segway (steered by a committee of dolled up Weimaraners) slowly coalesces until bits and pieces begins to flesh out the potted hidden treasured plot, whence thee credo, fido, and motto broadcast with the refrain – dog nabbit, though hounded with bone a fide canine fealty ideology and liberty, this muttering haint gonna feel melancholy.

Thus, this broke from the herd animalistic, chew van hissed tick, and enigmatic greyhound intrinsically kissable man’s best friend, I now shift metaphorical gears and narrate thine beast shot o’er tha bow wow per this custom made gene heir rick line jettisoned, no win brand name castaway ruff lee bar king out a hook line and sinker rod, this based on totally tubular twittering type from tender loin of ma late bit chen heat.

Now the disjointed hinged limp ping proletariat Papa John’s trope. Pizza me, how er what in the doghouse of Snoop Doggy Dog engendered the following bow-wow wing whimpering warbling.

Si saw, now let this pa - take a brief paws (now would be opportune to grab a powder milk dog biscuit), while examine claws on account of his previous buried angst riddled shaggy dog tail.

MY CANIS FAMILIARIS BEING

I count my dearly departed mother (the late AKA purebred Harriet Kuritsky) as the greatest underdog who ever roamed this earth.

She earned her stars and stripes (on each of each faux paus) and howling bark a rolls when said mistress of doggerel doggedly padded down the runt way head held high and tail happily wagging.

Time and again, thy priestess pooch coveted and thence garnered prestigious golden bone award emblazoned with the highest praise held for a bitch in heat in all the millennial annals of dogdom, and without whose bona fido love kept me from a paw city of self worth and a potential tailspin into gloom.

This upcoming May (two thousand and nine - date I wrote hodgepodge of these words) marks the fourth anniversary whence this canine succumbed to the jawboning gimlet eyed grim reaper, where said queen of the “man’s and woman’s best friend” lies in a state of eternal bliss!

Let me interrupt the tail to incorporate an ode (which pee on), she would find flattering.

REMEMBRANCE of HARRIET HARRIS –

VERSE ONE:

Christened as averred one Harriet Kuritsky

on November 13th nineteen thirty five

The youngest of four with only one brother

Whose exit from this world from a terminal illness she did not survive.

The following emotions communicating heartfelt grief

Practically vanquished as like my existence turned a new leaf.

A recurring abysmal grief stricken state

Still consumes my entire being of late

These perpetual tears of sadness seem not to a-bate

Since the grim reaper brandished scythe

Signature sign of a deadlocked fate!

Twas about 11:00 a.m. 2005 that fifth of May

That our dearly beloved mother

Fought tooth and nail to keep death at bay

(As recounted by eldest and youngest sisters,

who elected to remain on vigil that day)

Nonetheless rigor mortis upper hand

Brought a (supposed) painless and swift death

To her diseased and emaciated riddled body gone lifeless and ashen gray.

This only heir still misses his mom more than plaintive words can spell

With his agonizingly pained heart and soul

that rents asunder this psyche pell-mell

No amount of weeping can quiet and quell.

Cathartic for me to give you a posthumous ode

Conveyed in an easy to read poetic code

To help accept finality and permanent loss,

now only retrievable from nostalgic memories

Identified as that childhood home and favorite abode.

VERSE TWO:

Her cremated ashes still remain sealed in the same nondescript box

White, powdery and chalk like material

Devoid of any vestigial semblance to her once living and vibrant self

That unique persona pulverized and vaporized

(Housed former svelte and tall Arthur Murray ball-room dance teacher

A half-century plus prior to demise

Which beauty, charm and grace quickly caught the attention of my father

Who courted and eventually proposed to this young flirt and tease of a gal)

Inert organic matter now represents sole residual embodiment

Reduced to dust and near nothingness

Former corporeal being of blood, bone and flesh

Weighing no more than a dozen hatch marks on the scale

Absence still bears down heavy like some millstone round the neck

Per the black hole void created by defeat with Grim Reaper

Toward this woman who helped birth and nurse me into manhood

Momma’s only grown son still feels ripples of grievous sadness

No matter the years of suppressed anger and rage

In addition to emotional conflicts between us

Which invariably wrought unpleasant relationship

and a legacy of discord writ large across the tapestry of my life.

Force fields from this lithe Brooklyn native shone bright (Whose pronunciation a dead ringer giveaway to any amateur and junior linguist) Lives in the guise of aural spectra

Especially within the hallowed sanctity of Glen Elm domicile And continues to emit indomitable and unfading rays of pure energy and light. Now, even nearly seven plus human years after her passing from the temporal plain, no other dog approached being held

with as much esteem in the pet a file domain. Upon the yearly anniversary whence persona and dogma left me mama, the United States Beagle Corps play Rover Lee (reveille for the novitiate) tapped out with salty dog rag like schmaltz. Oh, she retrieved golden globe trotting awards while touring with Gladys Knight and the Pups. No doubt (especially some of you stray alley cats and junkyard dogs) beg and drool to differ at such holier than thou Canis Major hoopla. Please feel free to offer this, that or the other bone to pick.

This (ahem) boxer of sorts feels ready to duke out any pugnacious mutt. Specialists (such as the reputable Morris the cat) scooped, scoured and sniffed out the figurative poop deck to accumulate a veritable truckload of faded yet indisputable circumstantial paw prints.

Testimonials left a clear cut territorially marked trail (to whit and far as this nose can smell), that countless canine studs boarded the greyhound gravy train to make the trek for the express purpose to become the lucky underdog and sire offspring. The progeny borne forth from such an invaluable “bitch in heat” would be deemed more precious and valuable than the most rare gem or jewel east of Eden or this side of paradise.

Before the advent of insemination and subsequent birth of one or more puppies, the biological frenzied phenomena triggered auctioned bids to be placed on this longest domesticated animal. News of impregnation spread like wildfire. As the impending due date loomed ever closer, an immediate hushed lull descended upon the crowded air of the barely visible esplanade. Harriet (from the months of earlier precocious poetics and guided laser precision of mechanical engineer and soon to be proud papa Boyce) made whimpering sounds in quick succession with the approach of Labrador day. Complete dilation and miraculous genesis would be very close at paw. Although a true-blooded (yet not necessarily young whipper snapper) trooper, Harriet possessed an amazing tooth and claw tensile strength. No matter the presence of that bite the post person in the calf esprit de corps, a growling rumor circulated that mine mutter denigrated as some lady and the tramp.

When biology in tandem with Mother Nature decreed, she aggressively bore down with ear splitting yelps and wails. The spasmodic painful contractions forced an impulse to chump down on the figurative bullet, and any helping hands that might find themselves in the zone whence teeth did snap shut like a vice. An ordinarily gentle and playful creature (who liked to keep a long leash on life), Harriet licked one adversity after another, yet that indomitable will power inevitably got clamped tight from the invisible steel trap of death.

Before reduced to this grim forecast, the life force within yielded progeny to carry the gene pool and lineage. Whenever her facial muscles relaxed every now and again, the slackened oral tissue revealed a brightly colored strip of blood red gums. A trickle then rivulet of foamy saliva dribbled then flowed out. Nature set the pace and tone whence gestation would commence and be complete. Between advent of expectant motherhood, and expulsion of scrawny sac of new life, a cycle of cleaving, loosening and moaning (possibly akin to being impaled by a terrible swift sword) would ordain that vigilance be maintained.

Elimination of that nutrient rich amniotic bag would signal the finality of labor! An indistinguishable and amorphous mass of wet fur exited (or more accurately got expelled) from the womb. This issuance hardly registered an audible whimper from one haggard and tired older pup. That DNA double helix material tapestry and weave encoded a uniquely embedded behavioral and chromosomal genetic schematic for eons of predecessors harkening back to the days when humankind lived a brutish, nasty and short Hobbesian existence.

In essence, the general salient strengths and traits that demarcated these particular household pets (that essentially became beloved on a par like another part of the royal family – with the red carpet treatment to boot) came into fruition approximately when the arbitrary arrival of “modern man and of course woman” usurped control of fire from Prometheus.

Now, fast forward millions of years to bring this wayward writer back on track to resume his shaggy dog tail. As always, Harriet aspired to work officially, quickly and swiftly to maneuver herself in a strategic pose to nurse and wash her prized progeny. Despite her deathlike exhaustion, she mustered every last drop of energy to nuzzle each pup.

She gingerly crimped (with the aid of those knife blade edges of canine teeth) to grasp hold of the loose pocket of flesh encircling the neck. Rather than carry this motion out with intent to harm, the maternal survival of that brood got carefully nestled adjacent to the milk ducts where they could nurse and suckle to their delight. Tis the reflection of thine bark a role ruff alpha from the ruffian pack that offers to shear his puppyhood days to present papa pooch with an intent that the reader can sink her/his teeth into with fur vent bone a fido interest.

Once, a child was born rather extraordinarily. Whenever her anger got the best of her, fire or lava would explode from her hands. Her parents loved her, and loved her gift, but others in her village were fearful of such a powerful child, and with good reason, because she could rarely control her powers.

One day the village elders made a plan to protect the village from the girl. They were to trap her in the woods and leave her to live in isolation.

The mother pleaded with them to change their minds, but they refused. So, at sunset the mother led her daughter out into the deepest parts o the woods and left her.

Confused and scared, the girl sank to her knees and tears rolled down her cheeks. The earth listened to the sorrow of the girl and gave her a way to be able to watch her family and village, but still be safe.

Soon, she was turned into a volcano. Whenever a volcano erupts, it is the temper of the daughter inside bursting.

Crackheads down South Street...

Runaway train...

Something in her faded leather

Boot is making pain...

She slows and fights dramatically

To readjust her frame...

Fixes the strap, and wobbles on...

Her addict friend slows down...

He's yelling that they must

Keep moving...

Aquire their Mark in town...

That easy John,

Some stupid prick

That drops his guard and cash...

Pants are hanging 'round his ankles

While Luella grabs and hikes...

Leaving him in dire straights

At least for two more nights,

Until he finally grasps

What's really put at risk...

The family farm?...

The sequin charm?...

The smile that was his pitch...

She rolls him for a sucker,

As her junkie pimp

Takes more

Then what she thought that

She was owed...

The scrappings on the floor

Are all the bald head chick

Has spent

For one quick pleasure trip...

Flying like a precious diamond

Over her flesh and clay...

That's her out there,

She threds the fix...

Her boot collects

Loose rocks...

Diamonds on the inside pinching...

Plucking on the skin...

Wind plays her guitar strings...

Discards her at a whim...

Crackheads down South Street...

Runaway train...

Something in her faded leather

Boot is making pain...

She slows and fights dramatically

To readjust her frame...

Fixes the strap, and wobbles on...

...Fixes the strap, and wobbles on...

Bunny Villaire

6/25/23

Edit #2

"My final meal?" I ask, "that seems slightly morbid." The guard shrugs. He doesn't care, I wonder how many inmates he's lead to the chair, how many of them have died just inches from him, his face being the last thing they see.

"I didn't do it." I say, pointing to the menu he has offered me, chocolate ice cream with sprinkles, my last meal should at least taste good. The guard shrugs again, perhaps it is all he is capable of. He stands and exits the room, and I am alone with my thoughts, my many many thoughts.

How did it all go so wrong... I place my heavy head in my hands, I can feel the straps tightening round my wrists, the cap placed over my head, and the pulsing of electricity through my very soul. My hands begin to shake, I clasp them together, but that just makes it worse. I begin to rock backward and forward, breaths coming in short bursts. I gulp and choke I can't think can't breathe, am I dying now? That would be merciful I close my eyes and pray to let it all end, two hands grab my shoulders roughly.

"Be still." A voice demands. I am no longer rocking, my shoulders shake though are restrained well by the guard. I turn round, he lets go of me in disgust.

"What happened?" Another guard calls through the door.

"Panic attack." The guard calls back. Crap, I turn away, I wasn't dying. Though I would be soon.

One thing I've always hated is melted ice cream, pity that is what I am handed. The rainbow sprinkles have combined with the melted cream to give an off grey colour. I shove the bowl away; I couldn’t eat even if I wanted to my stomach contracts at the thought of what is to come.

"If you don’t eat," the guard began, "then you’re up for the Chair."

I nod, I know my fate.

The straps tighten, just like I'd imagined, a blind fold placed over my eyes, rough, scratchy fabric, though I won’t have to feel it for much longer.

Mary Jane, you are sentenced to death found guilty by a jury in the court of American law, for the murders of twenty people, including your own family.

I roll my eyes, despite no one being able to see.

"Get on with it." I yell.

"Ok." I hear someone say. A lever screeches as it is pulled, I feel a buzz, a wave of warmth and a boiling a searing hot pain. My head thrashes form side to side, my torso rocks, my legs which are tied down jiggle violently. I hear the machine shut off.

"Ok let’s get her to the morgue."

Why can I still hear? I feel someone pull the blind fold form my eyes.

"Surprise!" I say.

I'm on death row because the government wanted me there

Convicted without evidence

Guilty of conspiracy--a trick used when no evidence exists

I alone was convicted

Only one person conspiring? With who?

No, guilty of conspiracy by me and one-or-more-unnamed conspirators

Yes, that's a thing

Appeals judged in the light most favorable to the government

Of course! Fence-sitters beware

They'll get you if they want you

If you're charged, it's not

--Innocent till proven guilty, nor

--Guilty till proven innocent--it's just

--Guilty--so, forget the rest

I will die as collateral damage

Of someone's populist agenda

And will help my murderers

Get elected

And reap the love and admiration

Of those who label problems with a myopiscope

Allowing detritus like me to fall through invented cracks of connivance

Brought about my premature birth, or so the story goes. Youngest of four involved in crash test dummy with hit or miss, and run. Vehicle subsequently deemed most fit for scrap metal. What a bang up job the wrecked automobile, which importantly gave life to the following anecdote. Hence, I pieced, stitched, and wove together tidbit of information, and resorted to fabrication only when necessary lack of information available to recount my purported debut into the world of mortals. Though deep into January (thirteenth tubby exact – thirteenth minute of thirteenth second...), the temperature balmy as expected, this part of the world, when mother (the eldest unmarried senorita of well known and wealthy family) found herself with child bearing sooner than expected (based on series of unfortunate events) during most recent holiday gathering. Of course the uncle denies supposedly forced abduction, especially after he swore fealty to president. The explanation, how an April fool's prank involving disappearing pickle went toe dill lee awry equals lame truth. Just like most other kids, yours truly born out of wedlock. Where once "bastard" stigma and/or immediate shotgun wedding demanded unmarried lass to get hitched as soon as possible. Mores (reed more rays) loosened up nsync with rapidity how buck seething with hormonal secretion of dropped his drawers. The immediate supposed father oft times surprisingly discovered none other than grand pooh bah who fathered countless children already. So one more mouth to feed the requisite outcome versus terminating the pregnancy. Thus free of guilt or shame, another healthy baby boy came screaming his little lungs out. No idea (even to this dying day), what reason explained such ear splitting wailing. This inconsolable sobbing abruptly ceased once passed arbitrary infant phase. As a toddler, albeit an exceptionally calm, cool, and collected trademark demeanor got exhibited by the old man recounting fuzzily warm details. At an early age, a distinct preference for solitude prevailed. Additionally, I naturally gravitated toward libraries in general, and books in particular. An instinctive ability to acquire more than one language found much younger self of mine mastering a gamut of various and sundry tongues. Hodgepodge of racial diversity the ideal circumstances for adept preschooler gifted with natural propensity to converse adroitly among many peoples. The following estimated ratios encompassing nationalities that cannot adequately hint at the lingua franca comprising melting pot. Within boundaries constituting motherland (mine), the following surmised distribution attempts to offer an inkling highlighting panoply of population. Within an area

encompassing three hundred and fifty three thousand, and eight hundred and forty one square miles there roughly exists Chinese (400,000), Portuguese (254,000) and Italian (200,000), are the most spoken languages in Venezuela after the official language of Spanish. Wayuu is the most spoken indigenous language with 170,000 speakers. Inherent bent of mine amazing ability to learn (and not surprisingly love) an assortment of languages at a tender age immediately bespoke a golden opportunity to allow, enable, and provide monetary income for thy teenage senorita whose pride swelled with joy once upon a long time ago bringing paid gigs, whereby yours truly touted as some precious possession. The ease with which words tumbled out mouth of little lad (in) aforesaid (hint - see title of this informal communique) South American country would bare require me to break a sweat. Thus numerous wealthy patrons sought brilliant, excellent, magnificent human instrument gussied up performing (without needing to audition) exemplary adulation with concomitant knack to weave blessed gratuity to benign creator specifically take the stage by storm performing, viz prodigal humility: Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat or other theatrical renditions incorporating Joseph from the Bible's Book of Genesis. Though Christianity predominantly the largest religion in Venezuela, with Roman Catholicism having the most adherents. The influence of the Catholic Church was introduced in its colonization by Spain. Nonetheless liberal acceptance tolerated regarding loose religious entertainment intended for general public. Countless questions (about evolution of Homo sapiens) loomed large within maturing inquisitive mind recollecting piecemeal childhood, (a somewhat storied past – mine) more than half century ago, never could blatant atheism be trumpeted. This skeptical mindset became more problematic, when Church fathers came calling, especially to iterate broadcasts spoken in Latin, that cherished symbolically represented Mother tongue birthing bulwark, prolific gamut of offspring languages. Enemies (envious scions claiming a rightful stake), especially where riches proliferated near milking this cash cow to death.

I didn't mean for this to happen and I never wanted anyone to get hurt. All I wanted to do was stand up for my fellow citizens. I got tired of watching our elected officials enrich themselves at the expense of the people they're sworn to serve. Instead of being servants to the people, politicians have become nothing more than Armani and Versace clad whores to lobbyists, special interests, and corporations. They enjoy massive salaries, free health care, and kick backs from corporations and special interests who have no interest in securing the freedoms and welfare of the people. Meanwhile, their electorate suffers. Children go hungry, the elderly go without medical care, veterans go without mental health services and housing, and the Kardashians are still allowed to procreate. Conservative or Liberal, they all tell the lies, make promised they have no intention of keeping, and they all have agendas that run contrary to the needs of the people they represent. The only difference between Conservative or Liberal is they just wrap their duplicity and bullshit in different colored paper. It was time to take a stand.

My plan was simple, but expensive. After emptying my 401k, I purchased 546 Bum Plumber Butt Plugs with three speed vibrating action (FYI you can buy sex toys in bulk and get a volume discount). This was enough to provide everyone in congress, the supreme court, and executive branch with a Bum Plumber. I also purchased batteries for each anal joy buzzer because I've always hated getting a gift that requires batteries without the needed batteries. I then packaged each Bum Plumer and batteries for mailing and included a note to the government official that read:

"We the people of the United States have been betrayed by you and the other public servants who were elected or sworn to serve us. This gift is meant promote a sense of empathy in you and your fellow elected officials because you should feel the same ass-tearing pain your constituents feel when you fuck us with the razor wire wrapped shaft made of broken promises, failed legal protections, and unmet basic human needs. Please enjoy this gift from your constituents and feel free to go fuck yourselves. Sincerely, Shallow Gene Pool and the American people you have fucked without the benefit of lube or breakfast the day after."

I then mailed my little presents to every elected official in Washington. It was meant to be a harmless symbolic gesture. I had no idea that the recipients would actually USE the Bum Plumbers. Unfortunately, the enthusiastic use of the gifted anal stimulators caused several deaths. The medical examiners placed the cause of death in two categories.

1. Cardiac issues. Since many Bum Plumber recipients were of advanced age, when used, the jackhammer like vibration of the plug led to cardiac arrest. I guess the Bum Plumber should come with a warning label similar to those used for rollercoasters. "Those with the following conditions should not ride: Heart conditions or abnormal blood pressure, expectant and unexpectant mothers, and those with a medical sensitivity to probe effects." Sadly, the Bum Plumber proved to be a bipartisan killer ending the lives of amongst others, Mitch McConnell, Republican Kentucky and Bernie Sanders, Democratic-Socialist, Vermont. You would think they would know better because they're both old enough to have taught the Virgin Mary's Lamaze classes. I guess wisdom doesn't always come with age.

2. Bowel obstruction. Some users of the Bum Plumer were too aggressive and the vibrating butt plug migrated further into their bum plumbing than is recommended. Fearing that the use of a the Bum Plumber may be leaked to the media and hurting the chance of being reelected, those in this category failed to seek medical attention to treat their self-imposed anal retention. Without timely treatment, the Bum Plumber induced bowel obstruction eventually led to the rupturing of intestines which led to death. Marjorie Taylor Greene, Republican Georgia's autopsy showed that the Bum Plumber dug into her intestines like a Georgia tick on a fat hound dog. The other congresswoman of note who died due to butt plug related blockage was Lauren Boebert, Republican Colorado. It appears that the Bum Plumber traveled Rocky Mountain high up her ass and into her intestines. Neither congresswoman sought medical attention and no one noticed that they were ill because on their best day, they looked like they had a traffic cone strategically shoved up their poop shoot. One bowel obstruction Bum Plumber fatality that I was wrongfully charged with was that of former president, Bill Clinton. I didn't even send him a Bum Plumber! Bill's cause of death is a tragic but unsurprising coincidence, I swear!

Unfortunately, since I used PayPal to pay for the hundreds of the Bum Plumbers, I was quickly made the prime suspect. Still, I was shocked when I was charged with multiple counts of first degree murder. The charge was first degree murder because the prosecution argued that when I included batteries with the surprisingly deadly Bum Plumbers it implied premeditation. Despite having great representation courtesy of a defense fund provided by the good people at K-Y Jelly, I was found guilty and sentenced to Death.

To my surprise, I've become a cult hero and received a commercial spokesperson deal with the Adam and Eve Adult Toy Company. I've also sold the rights to my story to Hollywood. A major motion picture based on my story is ready for release. It's called, " Justice Vibrates: The Shallow Gene Pool Story." Paul "Pee-Wee Herman" Reuben's is going to play me. I'm told it's already getting Oscar buzz.

Death Row isn't so bad. You get your own cell with no fear of involuntary cellmate romance. I'm not worried about the Grim Reeper's needle because thanks to the detailed customer list provided by Adam and Eve I now have appeal leverage on some VERY naughty politicians. A little political quid pro quo and I should be out on parole before Christmas.

At the end of life, that's where you'll find it. After your heart stops and your breathing ceases, after your blood stops flowing and your body stills, that's where you'll find it. It is an end and a beginning—an end to everything you've ever known, and a beginning of everything you've never known.

After your vision goes dark, you'll know you're on the correct path. You're in a tunnel, a dark tunnel, full of warm shadows and velvet opacity. You'll spend some time in this tunnel, alone with yourself, alone surrounded by dark nothingness. You'll realize you were never afraid of the dark, you were afraid of what nightmares stalked beyond your vision. You were never afraid of the night, you were afraid of the creatures that used darkness for their advantage, cloaking themselves in shadow until the very last moment, until you were nothing more than a bloody morsel. You were never afraid of the shadows, you were afraid of what they might contain. And these shadows contain nothing but themselves; these shadows are pure darkness. You'll find comfort in that darkness, in that tunnel. You'll find a greater sense of peace than you ever knew on earth.

Then, after you've found that sense of peace, that pure comfort, that total rest, you'll see a light appear at the end of the tunnel. It calls to you, it beckons you, and you'll find yourself moving toward it. You'll pass through the darkness, slowly, without haste. The shadows part ahead of you, and you thank them for their gift of peace.

As you draw closer to the end of the tunnel, the light grows more brilliant. It's the softest light you've ever known, yet also the most radiant. It has none of the harshness of days on earth, none of the sun's unforgiving scrutiny. It is soft, and promises acceptance. It is radiant, and promises love.

You'll step out of the tunnel into a beautiful meadow, and you'll feel at home. Clear mountains and blue lakes, vibrant forests and white beaches. Do you remember the fantastic lands you dreamed of when you were younger? Do you remember the magical places you wanted to visit? You've made it. You've made it. You can smell the ocean and the wildflowers. The air is clean and fresh, and when you inhale with a new set of lungs, you'll feel more refreshed than you ever have before.

Waiting for you in the meadow stands someone familiar, someone who crossed through the tunnel many years ago. The last time you saw them, they were gaunt, frail, lost. They did not remember you, they did not remember themselves. They faded slowly, painfully, until they said farewell. And now, they stand before you, healthy and happy and full of joy. They will welcome you to this beautiful new world, and you will feel true ease, true contentment. You'll realize that everything is okay, that everything was always okay and will always be okay. They'll take your hand and guide you forward, laughing and smiling all the way, to meet all those you lost before. You'll be at home in a wonderful new world, a world where you'll never feel this terrible pain again.

And that's what happens. Not so bad, right? There's nothing to be afraid of, I promise. We all pass through the tunnel eventually, crossing over into new and different lands. You and I will meet again; we'll reunite in that beautiful meadow, and we'll embrace under an endless blue sky in a better world.

Goodbye, for now. Say hello to the other side for me, will you?