I will never stop healing you, America. It's like when I was a boy, and I got the flu, and I threw up on the dog, and my mom forced me to drink Robitussin, and I smashed the Robitussin bottle with my teeth and ran out of the house, flinging shards of glass at passing cars, and my uncle finally tackled me and forced me to take my shot, and I got all sleepy. It's just like that.
Do you cry at night? Do you muffle your tender sobs by cramming a piece of styrofoam in your mouth, so that grandma will not hear you and call the police? Are you so terribly, terribly, terribly crushed earthward with the burdens of this un-Clowson American life? I am. My mind no longer works right. I put on my pants backwards and forget to comb my moustache. I brush my teeth but forget to floss behind my ears. I can't think straight. I can't walk without falling down. I breathe all wrong. When I try to eat my lunch, I smash bits of bacon into my eye holes and snort Heinz salad cream up my nostrils. My ears are oozing some kind of clear fluid. Everything is all off-kilter and sick. I attribute this to 1) economic woes, 2) Pip Clowson not being elected president, 3) Armageddon being just around the corner, 4) the closing of Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Clown College.
However, I can soothe all these aches and oozes with cartoons. When I was a little Five-Times-Better kid, I learned very early on that cartoons had the ability to make every bad thing good, to make every smelly thing flower-scented, to make every punch to the face a tender kiss from a mystical fairy. It is my solution to your pain, America. I am going to single handedly heal you with cartoons. I hope you are ready.
Soak this in and let it be a breath of satiation to you:
Ladies and gentlemen, I am here to begin to healing process. I want to heal you from the pain of missing out on the opportunity to have Pip Clowson as your President. I have created a wonderful cartoon series to begin this healing process. Please, enjoy:
Well, so much for the 10,000 Clowson 2012 bumperstickers...
...sitting in the DOUI office storage closet. I supposed those will have to get incinerated, just like the PandaNamingAward and my collection of I won 1,000,000 Euros t-shirts. I knew that second one was a bad idea when the caller on the number I rang couldn't correctly pronounce the word "'Ole'."
May Pip rest in peace in whatever heavenly automat he's currently residing in.