"WHYYYYYYYeeeeeeeeYYY whyyyyyW HYYWYWYYYEYY!!!!" Stumbling out of my boudoir, I see Ghoulardi staring at my laptop convulsed in agony, staring at this.
Normally, I'd beat the living daylights out of someone takin' a peek at my reporting, but Ghoulardi is inconsolable. "I lived my whole life for this moment, and now I'm dead when it happens WHYYYeeeeeeeeeeeeeeWHYYYYYYYYY"
"When the world has so lost its mind, my style of absurdity is actually preferable in public office."
Ahhh. Now I get it. I throw together a couple Bloody Marys, hold him like I'm burping a 3 month old. "But from the afterlife, you can experience it even more!"
Ghoulardi stops shuddering, starts comin' around. "You think?" He sniffs. I brush a tear from his eye. Three missionaries and a Cleveland steamer later, Ghoulardi's back to his old self, shoutin' "OXNARD" from my ceiling mounted stirrups. Ol' Dot's spoonful of sugar always helps the medicine go down.
"There, there....we'll make it aallllll better," I whisper across the pillow. "Let's check out this stitch up your guy's been blackballed from."
Ghoulardi's eyes light up. "They're so terrified of this lunatic, they won't let him in the door????? Talk about stayin' sick!!! We are so THERE!"
My scoop is getting better all the time.