Santa and George Soros
Being a member of the elite liberal media, Christmas isn’t Christmas until the moving van full of George Soros’ bribe money pulls into my driveway.
Tonight’s the night. Under cover of darkness, I will unload bales of cash and stack them in my basement. Hillary Clinton shows up to help and, once we’re done stashing the cash, she kills the driver of the moving van so no one will know I receive millions from Soros, evil genius of everything. Then, Hillary and I dig a big hole and bury the moving van in my front yard, next to the rhododendron bush in the front of the yard.
The next day, I take maybe $100 million worth of Soros’ money, and go Christmas shopping. I buy myself six new Bentleys and some underwear. I buy my wife a new spatula, some underwear and several enslaved child servants. Don’t worry, there’s still millions left in the basement, stacked neatly next to 14 million stolen Donald Trump ballots I’m hiding for Soros.
On Christmas Eve, I put on my solid platinum pajamas. They don’t bend at the knee, but they’re shiny as hell. My wife sits peacefully on the couch, knitting an afghan. Knitted into the afghan’s pattern is a series of coded messages for the International Zionist Conspiracy. When she finishes the afghan, she’ll take it to the laundromat. When she puts it in the drier, an evil dwarf will climb in with it, and transcribe the messages. My wife’s bribe money also comes from George Soros, but it doesn’t get here until Yom Kippur.
Standing at my computer (remember I can’t sit in the platinum pajamas), I check YouTube to make sure no brave “citizen journalist” has uncovered our role in bringing about The New World Order.
Dan Bongino? Nope. Alex Jones? Nope. The guy who nearly flunked civics in high school but now does videos explaining the American electoral process? Nope. None of them are on to us.
I check a couple of podcasts made by people who have never held a job longer than 18 months but who are capable of unraveling vast worldwide conspiracies. Nope. They missed it, too.
“Still chasing Hunter Biden,” I cackle. “They’ll never catch us.”
And they never will, not unless there’s a huge uprising of 45-yearold Rambo wannabes who take to the streets with their never-beforefiredat- a- moving- target guns. I hope their wives remind them to take their insulin to the revolution. Anyway, if the army of paper target shooters doesn’t hunt us down, we’ll get away with it forever.
As of this writing, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I’m going to get up, go do two hours of talk radio on a local station and stop for a convenience store breakfast sandwich on my way home. Only $2.89 for the bacon, egg and cheese on an English muffin and $1 for a cup of coffee. I eat like this so people won’t know about the bribe money I get from Soros. It’s fiendishly clever, even if I do tip the clerk with a four-carat, unset diamond.
If you’re reading this, and you’re driving a truck for $16.37 an hour, and you have several children, some of whom you see frequently, don’t worry about me. I’m going to have a great Christmas.
Marc Munroe Dion’s latest book is a collection of his best columns festively entitled, “Devil’s Elbow: Dancing in the Ashes of America.” It is available in paperback from Amazon.com, and for Nook, Kindle, GooglePlay and iBooks.