I very much appreciate that someone over there fixed up my credit rating to a respectable 650. I would not have thought such a thing possible, considering the financial wreckage in my life over the past several years, what with losing my home and my savings while fully expecting to be murdered as I saved the republic.

So I managed to get a credit card several months ago. I was pleased that I’d been given a second chance. It had a credit line of a thousand dollars, with which I fully intended to rebuild my credit. I wanted to be a properly functioning adult again, and maybe purchase a house someday.

But it seems that my good intentions were not enough. I am now two months past due on the hundred-dollar payment. My seasonal work drops off a cliff as soon as autumn passes into winter. And I will not be making much money again until spring.

Of course, as we both know, my financial difficulties are directly caused by United Nondiction, which had long ago scared off all my comedy customers, an action all the more vexing considering that I could have been working in television ten years ago had I not elected to do a more socially valuable form of comedy in service to the biggest piece of dog shit the world has ever known, the United States “Government.”

It goes without saying, then, that your diseased three-holer of a “jurisdiction” will pay my credit card bill.

Here’s what you do. Go to the Justice Department and say, “Bring me to your cunty nonsense.” The lawyers there will gasp that someone knows of their secret cache of kook law! They’ll speak in hushed tones to each other: “He knows about our cunty nonsense! What do we do?!”

And once they realize that it’s no use denying the obvious cunty nonsense that spews from their mouths, they will consent to showing you the source of their guild’s power. And one of them will say, “Very well. Come with me.”

And he’ll lead you down corridor after corridor, down into the bowels of the Justice Department, down stone steps and along stone hallways, past smoking torches on the walls. And somewhere nearby you can hear human wailing! There must be a torture chamber nearby! You have entered the inner sanctum of the world’s filthiest race of human, lawyers!

“Here is our source of power. Behold our cunty nonsense.” And the lawyer pulls down on a torch on the wall and a stone door slides open to reveal that guild’s power source: It’s your standard, steel, gray filing cabinet standing upright upon an altar in the middle of the chamber. Hooded, robed figures endlessly circle the altar, chanting their words of art.

“Step aside, you fiends!” And they hiss at your interruption of their religious ceremony! “In the name of all that is decent, return to your holes! Be gone!” And then you stride to the altar and kick aside the candles and the colored sand and the burnt offerings. Upon the filing cabinet is written a legend:

The Pure, Unadulterated Cunt Talk Bullshit by Which Our Filth Guild Operates.

And therein, Mister Saunders, will you find the magic words you may employ to pay my credit card bill.

And once you’ve grabbed the manila file folder containing their filth-beast words of art, you’ll have to shove those wretches aside as you escape their filthy hellhole and return to decent human society aboveground! Run, Mister Saunders! Run like the wind! Your soul depends on it!

And once back in the safety and sanity of your own office, you may peruse their lawyer filth language at your convenience.

And then you may compose a letter to the credit card company, employing your newfound understanding of that filth guild’s secret language, their purposely ill-defined words of art, the cunty nonsense they worship:

“Dear credit card company. There’s a guy by the name of Chris King. He is the Grand Wizard of the Global Caliphate of Doom. I know this because if that were not so, we would not have been able to traipse into his house whenever we felt like it as if it were a bus station. And he would not have been able to perform his routine for us in his living room with his feet up on the desk while eating pistachio nuts. But anyway, it is of the highest urgency to United Shitstain that you permit us to make his credit card payments. If his credit card does not work, he will be unable to finance his global terror operation. Incidentally, I’m still not sure why this idiot jurisdiction ever thought it was a bright idea to declare a professional comedian to be a terrorist. Oh well. But anyway, thanks!”

So I trust that that freak show you call a jurisdiction can make my credit card payments? Excellent.


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