Wouldn't You Like to be My Neighbor--IN HELL

Tuesday, Mrs. Bastard asked me if I was ok. It happens from time to time, but usually because I’m being overly quiet and withdrawn, or I’m stomping around with a scowl under my beard. But I hadn’t done anything really to warrant the question.

“I read your blog, I worry when you don’t sleep.”

Bah! Sorry people. She’s been reading my blog. My “Mrs. Bastard: All Anal American Girl” article is going to have to wait for a few more weeks.

In the meantime though, did you know Mr. Rogers died on Wednesday? I guess if he wanted the news splashed everywhere, the bastard shouldn’t have died of cancer when there was all those drugs and hookers to be found.

You pick the cooler headline:

“Mr. Rogers Dies of Stomach Cancer” or “Mr. Rogers Found Dead Under Pile of Hookers and Blow.”

But, you know, whatever.

I did notice that my msn messenger is suspiciously free of news stories about him dying. I guess a man who lives his life helping others and then dying of a common disease at an old age isn’t what we want to focus on. Or yes, maybe many of us just assumed he was already dead.

However, no one in my office is running up and down the halls spreading the morbid word. Now that he’s gone, though, I suspect in the coming months all his dark secrets will be brought to light. Finally people can sell his secrets! Let the contest begin! Let’s predict the future. I’m calling a few bastard children and maybe a sex tape involving Britney Spears.

I for one won’t be happy until his entire career is called into question for something petty and laughable. Like, I bet he liked having sex! Or maybe he smoked! Or drank alcohol on occasion! C’mon people, help me out. I can’t enforce a hypocritical higher standard all by my lonesome.