My Savior, Penn Jillette

I have not been able to write this blog for some time. My fucking body has degenerated to a near corpse state. The couch has become part of my body. I ooze strange bodily fluids from various orifices (must be from all of that bad pussy i ate - maybe the rancid pussy of my ex-wives!) I ache from head to toe. My fucking teeth have fallen out, I have bed bug bites on my arms from an old couch in my living room. All I would like right now is to be pain free and to meet a nice Jewish cunt, in her 80's, who could keep me company all day while i watch CNN and the History Channel.

If it wasn't for Penn Jillette I would be erased entirely from public memory. Last month he met me in a Mexican restaurant - sort of "Weekend At Bernie's" starring Al Goldstein. I sat there and listened to Penn (a fearless intellectual who defies God to send him straight to hell upon his death!). The man is a fucking genius - his conversation runs from genetics to national politics to tango dancing (and his brain stores a plethora of information on all topics).

My lawyer, Charles DeStefano, brought me to Manhattan from my shit hole apartment in Ozone Park, Queens. Charles is my last living real friend. He cares about me. We are unlikely bedfellows. He is a handsome, articulate guinea WOP dego lawyer from Staten Island who could charm Hitler, Stalin, and Rasputin over cocktails. He is married with children, but he manages to make time for me. I would suck his dick, but his wife is Latina - she would hunt me down, split and quarter me, then spit on my rotting corpse. Charles is too masculine for me anyhow.

So, getting back to Penn. We sat at a long table straight out of the Friars Club. Gilbert Gottfried, "Ratso" Sloman, Jamie Gillis, Penn, Charles, and I sat for hours...it was like the old days, when I was in with the In Crowd. They all ate (since my gums are toothless, I drank a club soda and had some soup). I felt as though a taxidermist stuffed me and I was plopped into this group to be viewed as a relic from the past. All is needed was a fucking small metal plate on my head that read "Scumbagus Corpsus."

At hte end of the night, they shook my hand (I wished they had shaken my cock...although my prick hasn't had blood circulating in it since fucking Reagan was President). It was nice to see all of them. It resurrected me for a night.

Maybe I will get another free meal next month. (I'm sure it will not be from Gilbert - that cheap cocksucking faggot)

Until next week,

Al