Who’s hiring? Funeral Homes, you don’t say, LinkedIn. But I thought the clot shots worked more than COVID truther comedians. I could become a well-paid eulogy ghost writer after all. I’m beginning to like the making of this screenplay, The Eulogy Ghost Writer, Alan Ball. Who do I got to blow that doesn’t have Monkey Pox yet, to pitch my movie to David Geffen on his Yacht in St. Barts this winter while socially distancing myself from more Hannukah time blues powered losing?
“Mr. Geffen, The Eulogy Ghost Writer is Trumbo for emotive thought impaired Twitter Twat Nation, got it. I want Vince Vaughn to play me as the Eulogy Ghost Writer, Joan River’s daughter to play the out of work makeup artist turned Mortician because girls don’t dress up anymore and Andrew Dice Clay to play the Funeral Director Dad who constantly makes fun of his daughter’s fucked face. “That bat shit crazy governor of NY, who looks like Delta Burka’s insane sister, who survived getting electrocuted to death in a Stephen King Novel for forsaking to say grace at the Judd’s House for Christmas, looks less bat shit crazy than your face. Was your plastic surgeon barely finished with his residency with the Nip Tuck Institute in Wuhan or what? And I thought Margaret Cho had a squinting problem with the house lights on at Catch a Squinting Star. I could get into Margaret Cho being my reflexology therapist these days, because I’m against supporting underage sex trafficking and we all know Catching A Squinting Star wasn’t yanked of the boat yesterday. Bob Kraft, I fucked him, oh, I can’t take no more. Eulogy Ghost Writer Lives, Challah. Thank you very much.