MY BIG BOY was a true villain, but now he's but a true beauty. Spiked with smokes and packed up to sail, like so many noble whales. Tho his blow-hole stank well, its sonorous whoops brought many big boys together in comraderie in edifying, energizing ritual daily group rage meditation. Without my big boy who remains? Glenn Beck? That other guy on AM radio, the shitty knockoff? He'll never be as big a boy. His blowhole will never be the institution our glorious, grand wizard of words's was. He'll never inspire in a father the courage to disown his queeny little son, nor especially the daily pep in his step to maintain that laborious wall of silence. He'll never be our Rush Limbaugh. God welcome our very big, large friend at the gate and treat him good. If he must go down below, treat him to a last blast of pink oxies. A big fistful. Amen.
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