Day 58 in the BIPOC house - Rev. Kevin O’Brien

Things are starting to get serious here. I can’t tell you exactly where I’ve been or what happened over the last four days, mainly because I don’t remember, but the bits and pieces I DO remember are spotty at best. It all started when I went to go do some  damage control for a catholic priest friend of mine, Reverend Kevin O’Brien.

 Now don’t let the name fool you, this is no Darby O’Gill “tweedlee dee give me me tord woosh” happy go-lucky-leprechaun type character we’re talking about, noooo this cat is coooler than a cucumber. Coooler than cool. Cooler even than a roach under the boardwalk with a 2-6 of Jack, Jack! He puts the “lick” in cath-o-lic know what I mean?  Let me spell it out for ya, fat! I like the hair sniffin, and he likes the face lickin. Don’t get no simpler than that. ANY way, us child creepos gotta stick together, and with all this Ghislane Maxwell hooey going on, ya don’t need to be a rocketeer sciencer to figure out that a LOT of us “higher ups” are on the hit list, so I went to go run interference for my pal because if he goes down, you can bet your bottom dollar the guy’s bringin me down with him. Well listen up. Who do you think showed up to our rendezvous? None other than old cornpop himself. And by gum if he didn’t have the very same wrist tattoo I spoke about earlier on Kamala’s goons! Well things got heated, and next thing I know I’m in a basement. No not my own comfortable green screen basement where I spent the entirety of my campaign, but another foreign to me basement. Very damp, dank, not very comfortable at all. Anyway, after finding myself in that basement, things just went blank. Most likely because I ran out of meds because I was AWOL for so long.

Well that’s all I have the energy to relay back to y’all for tonight. I get tired, what with the dementia and all. 

So all you slag heaped pony showers! Until tomorrow, I remain your humble and cute innocent silly old uncle president,

-KJB