Sunday, January 23, 2022

I followed Jen Psaki's advice and now I'm screwed



Last week White House Press Secretary, Jen Psaki, gave advice to the American people. I'm an American person so I listened to her and she has changed my life.

I haven't been working because I can't get the vaccine as I have severe reactions to them and it also goes against my religion. So my boss at the trucking company I worked for fired me because he said he had to. Naturally, this upset my wife, Karen, who got the COVID-19 vaccine, got another one, and finally got a booster.

My daughter, Tatiana, is 17 and also got all three jabs and even drives triple masked even when she's alone, just to be safe and obedient to Dr. Anthony Fauci. He may talk like he's stupid, but he's a doctor and must be a very smart person.

Our dog, Fetch, is 4 and he too got vaccinated just to be safe.

But I didn't want to take the chance and I used to think that it's my body, so it should also be my choice, right? I mean, chicks have been saying that for years. 

I was home alone [Karen was at her job as a waitress at the Dew Drop Inn and Diner, and Tatiana was at her CRT class at the Community College of Hod Knox, and Fetch wouldn't come near me because I was unvaccinated and he could tell by my smell] as I sat on the sofa and watched a little tube.

Jen Psaki was being interviewed on my favorite TV show, "The View," with all those smart ladies with deep opinions and cool names like "Joy" and "Sonny" and "Whoopi." Jen gave advice for people who were pissed off because Democrats didn't pass their voting stuff that helps the blacks and other not so white people to vote no matter what, where, when and how often.

I was so impressed with her [she's my favorite ginger] that I recorded her words:
“My advice to everyone out there who’s frustrated, sad, angry, pissed off, feel those emotions, go to a kickboxing class, have a margarita, do whatever you need to do this weekend, and then wake up on Monday morning; we gotta keep fighting. What that means … is we have to keep talking to members about federal legislation, that’s essential, that’s something that can be permanent, that can make sure people’s rights are protected. But we also need to make sure people are educated in states across the country about what their rights are, how they can vote, when they can vote, how to request an absentee ballot. There’s a lot we need to do on that front, and that’s gonna rely on the energy and the anger of that activism as well.”

So I joined a kickboxing class and made enough margaritas to float a canoe with the little money I had one me.

And I started drinking those margaritas one after another, after another . . . 

When Karen got home, boy, was she angry when she saw me passed out on the sofa in a pool of my own vomit and what-have-you.

"What's the meaning of this?" she screamed, and it woke me up. 

I explained what the meaning of my being drunk and laying in my own vomit meant. That didn't bode well with Karen and she tried to throw me out of the house. That was when my kickboxing 'kicked in,' (no pun intended). 

When she grabbed me by the collar, I kicked her. She called the cops after I said I was sorry and it was just a knee-jerk reaction, literally. 

The rest of the week went poorly as I became homeless, hopeless, and had to find a job quick. But nobody wanted to hire an unvaccinated former truck driver with an estranged Karen for a wife and I scrounged up enough money to pay for an hour at an Internet Cafe and write this.

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So take heed, my fellow Americans. First, do not listen to Jen Psaki when she gives advice on how to cope with her administration's failures. She's coming from a place of privilege and doesn't know what it's like to live paycheck to paycheck, hand to mouth.

Second, after a long, hard thinking session, I have come to the conclusion that Dr. Fauci is not the expert he poses as, but the fraud that Republicans say he is.

Third, you men can marry a woman named "Karen" if you love her, but don't marry a Karen.

Finally, don't blame your dog if it knows where its bread is buttered, so to speak.



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