Death came to town the other day, and I got an exclusive interview with him/her/it.
“So Death, is Mitch McConnell really you in disguise?”
Death laughed. The Earth shook. I peed myself a little bit.
I was afraid to ask another question, but I did. “Death, why do good people die and asshole dumpster fires stay alive so damn long?”
Death roared and growled and then took out a chessboard. I played chess with Death. It was exciting and scary and weird. For some reason, the game would not end, although I had the bastard’s Queen.
“Is there a Mrs. Death?”
He chuckled and put a skeletal finger to where his lips would be inside the black cowl covering his head.
“Are all Republicans close friends with you? I mean, do they love making people die but relish life for themselves? And, if so, why? Should all those hated by Republicans run for their lives before people like Mitch the Bitch turns his stony dead gaze at them, pointing his long finger, damning them for all eternity? Or how about Steve Bannon? My God – that’s you, it has to be, he can’t be human!”
Death threw the chessboard and pieces, and howled out in anger. I think I hit a nerve, made a good guess, and couldn’t stick around for too long or, well, when facing Death across a chessboard, it’s best not to gloat over one’s victory.
I ran, and Death soared away to lick his wounds at the Republican HQ. I had won the chess game, but he cheated: wouldn’t give up his king.
Who looked exactly like ... Mitch McConnell!!!!
