Mike
F*** Socialism!
Jake was dying. His wife, Becky, was maintaining
a candlelight vigil by his side. She held his fragile
hand, tears running down her face. Her praying
roused him from his slumber; He looked up and
his pale lips began to move slightly.
"Becky my darling," he whispered.
"Hush my love," she said. "Rest, don't talk."
He was insistent. "Becky," he said in his tired voice,
"I have something that I must confess."
"There's nothing to confess," replied the weeping
Becky, "everything's alright, go to sleep."
"No, no. I must die in peace, Becky. I ... I slept
with your sister, your best friend, her best friend,
and your mother!"
"I know, sweetheart," whispered Becky,
"let the poison work."
a candlelight vigil by his side. She held his fragile
hand, tears running down her face. Her praying
roused him from his slumber; He looked up and
his pale lips began to move slightly.
"Becky my darling," he whispered.
"Hush my love," she said. "Rest, don't talk."
He was insistent. "Becky," he said in his tired voice,
"I have something that I must confess."
"There's nothing to confess," replied the weeping
Becky, "everything's alright, go to sleep."
"No, no. I must die in peace, Becky. I ... I slept
with your sister, your best friend, her best friend,
and your mother!"
"I know, sweetheart," whispered Becky,
"let the poison work."