The Untold Biography of Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, Doctored. Told by an Idiot for Maroons, only!
When I was a kid studying for the electric chair, I lived in a poor part of town, "Trash-Landia."
We were so poor we couldn't afford groceries, we had to rent them.
We were so poor that we thought drinking sheep-dip was a delicacy.
It wasn't until I grew up and moved away that I learned that my parents had always lived with the neighbors next door, using the assumed names: John & Mary Rotten-Parents, Bonnie & Clyde, Melania & The Orange Orangutan and, on
holidays they called themselves, 
When bored, they changed their day just for the fun to, "Parent of the Kids Next Door."
I was schooled, at an early age, by the "slide necked" wino, when he sobered up. He explained that the reason I never knew my parents was that they had suffered untimely deaths.
My mother died at childbirth, her own!
My father was said to be "very precocious". He passed away at the age of nine, after fathering 5 children and one duck. I liked the duck but suspected that the other children were "quackers".
Nevertheless, that is to say, none-the-least, we, the "off, off-springs" of this tangled web of deceit, were a happy lot. Out of necessity, we created our own play activities. My favorite was "Ring Around the Wino."
Sometimes we would grease the back of the Wino's neck using it as the neighborhood slide. It was so much fun.
As children, and later young, stunted adults, we had to be even more self-sufficient, inventive, and imaginative.
City law forbade us from entering our Eden (Eden Park) because we were naked much of the time and ate too many apples.
My first item of clothing was a sock that I use to cover my boyhood, and/or wipe my nose when I sneezed.
Which in the day, but not the night, was proper etiquette, as, too, was spitting into one's "cock sock" (darned by local Cos Soks-ers)!
Spitting (expectorating) on the sidewalk was a crime punishable by ten days in jail.
Which was fine with us. It was our "vacation".
There we had plenty (all most too much) semi-warm gruel, a real bed with no sheets, orange jumpsuits, water, and three squares per day that we tossed about like Frisbees.
One day, out of the blue, I was adopted (snatched) by someone claiming to be "my uncle," but not related to me, or the other silly siblings!
They, unfortunately, had many failed attempts at adoption because, I surmised, due to their odd habit of biting people that grabbed, touched, or looked at them sideways. From the front was OK, but "sideway", was when "All Hell" broke out.
It was a commonly held rumor that is how so many slow folks found their way here, here in Mildew, Ohio, where there are no jobs, not even blow jobs!
Since, I had only a few teeth left, my "Weird Uncle Al" adopted me. The rest of the family he sent back to Hell, via The Trump Express Tram.
Everyone, or, nearly everyone has, a "Weird Uncle Al", living in one of their closets. If not, Miss Lindsey Graham is available.
Every morning Uncle Al would kick me down the steps, then up the steps. You might say he got his "kicks" that way.
One morning after being kicked down the steps, then up the steps, I decided to do something about it.
I tore out the steps. But that didn't stop Uncle Al. What stopped him was falling into the hole where the steps used to be.
On that bright, clear morning, at the age of 9, I stuffed me belongs into my watchpocket and headed off to Hollywood, where oddity was welcomed and/or expected.
I got my first paying job near Grauman's Chinese Theater, as a postage stamp licker, and quickly moved up tack to NYC, where I lived in a cardboard box and DJT lived in the penthouse of Trump Towers.
o armpit dryer, at a Gay Bath.
The rest is history.
Donald J. T-Rump bone was a FREQUENT guest at the "Happy Spa for Men Only", along with his best friend, Jeffrey Epstein. They both took me under their wing and demanded that I do obscene things to them, such as dry their hairless arm pits.
DJT took a special interest in me, because he thought I was a 12-year-old girl. Luckily, DJT NEVER FOUND OUT that I was a boy. Or, he would have sold me to Mitch McConnell.
When we moved to NYC, he anointed me as his "designated wiper," referring to me as "Head Wiper"!
As luck would have it, I moved to the Whitehouse when DJT stole that election in 2016.
I know, it was stolen because I had an inside view from his anus at least 17 time per day.
I don't what that man ate, but his Super, Duper Depends Diaper was constantly overflowing,
The Fake POTUS, real POS, excoriated me hourly with his repetitive Mantra, "Your duties, number-one Ass-Wipe", Dirty Diaper Donnie would say constantly (even if I was not in the room with him, "Is to cover that SHAT up!"
"Which shat?" I asked. "The one in your diaper, or the stolen election?"
"Both," he thundered, "that is why I pay you $7.50 per hour!"
It wasn't all Dirty Diaper Don's fault. While he slept with 13–14-year-old girls, I serviced Melanoma, when Trump was on the stump selling "Bull Shat" to rubes. 
At the Secret Service's suggestion, I changed my name to Ghoulianni, and now, Bannon and I are getting married, hopefully before he goes to prison.
Please, "newstalkers.communists' member s, don't be afraid to share your most intimate 'Love Story' details with us. We are perverts, too.
Poster can be 100% assured that no one will reads it story on this site,YOUR TRASHY, love escapades, bold face exaggerations, and "Twisted Sister" sex adventure are safe with us. It is covered by full force of folks at Car Shield!
The life you save, may be your own.
(Unadjudicated Perjury Threshold Invoked:
"The content in this tome is worthless; the value is in the pulp, when one eats it! So, eat it Michael, Don't Beat It that is so passe' ").
DISCLAIMER :
We are the original Fake News ; we are so fake we just make SHAT UP.
Join our staff-a-coccus, as a contributor, and have your name formally vilified by thenewstalkers.com's esteemed monitor (a suspected, former KGB operatives). 
Or so I am told by one of my many Hallucinations. OK, it was CB!
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Send $100,000 cash (Nothing larger than a twenty) to the Bird Dropping Institute, A Think Tank For Morons, No Idiots, Please and we will send you a silly red, child's cap. (Postage Free)
We are located in the heart of Mildew, Ohio, ("Where There Are No Job - Not Even Blow Jobs").
Begging rubes for money is our only source of income, so don't put it off. Sell your home, if you must. You won't regret it.
Don't have a home? Sell your neighbors. These Red Hats are going fast.
Thank you, I just did. How did you do that?
The red hats seem to be worn too tight. Cut off blood flow and create some euphoric, thoughtless bliss.
So, that is the draw. Well I'll be, poppy, damn, fart, Hell.
This literary work is dedicated CB!
Is the doctor coming soon?
When the Spirit moves, I write or go to the bathroom as quickly as I can. In this case, I am not sure which I did. Do you know?
I would have dedicated this opus to Ender, but he bites.
A word to the wise, if you follow this epistle. You are not wise. Start the a.m. with your "meds."
Here, at the Dick Cheney Nursing Home For Wayward Republicans "Waterboarding is a therapy, not a torture." I like it like that!
I hope I do not have to talk to myself forever. I am harmless, a tad bit off, but an educator, nevertheless.
The tooth is not always concealed in one's mouth. At some point on the journey, one must open one's mouth.
43 Visitors and still no large package with nicely wrapped twenties. Do I have to go to each and everyone's house, and protest in person?
At my age, 80.7 and rapidly approaching my EXPIRATION DATE, that is a non-starter.
Senile, old Liberals need your financial assistance, too. Jesus said, "$100,000 in twenty is needed to continue the good work. Would you defy "the Jesus"?
These Red Heads will be worth that and more in the future, I guarantee that. (But, not in writing.)
My team of alien advisers, here, at the Bird Dropping Institute, A Stink Tank...er Think Tank, are rebelling. There is talk of building scaffolding for some reason.
They demand, that since I am 80.7.0 of age, wear Depends (like Dirty Diaper Donnie) that I, too, maybe on the edge of senility, doddering, and occasionally diagnosed with the "On-set of Alzheimer" by my disgruntled Doctors, Ding-A-Ling & Ding Dong.
They demand that I submit my Epistles to them for review, prior to posting my Epics no the backside of Men Rooms bathroom stalls. That is the only media I have not been "kicked off!" (And, I mean, "literally kicked off.")
You see, we too, here, at Eat The Press Do Not Read It, have moderators that determine what content is "appropriate," or goes against our "Non-Existent Standards"!
At me age (80.7.0) I could use a break (er, a "helping hand".)
I have had every bone in my body broken, abused by rowdy crowds, and me skull thumped by literary critics with a bone in their nose. And, all to enlighten you.
As a drooling octogenarian, experiences has shown me that denigrating ones political leaders is like a "Bowl of Busted Cherries," without the "old that felt so good. I never knew what I was missing until I slept with you on this Subway Train in broad daylight" utterances.
Or, like DJT (my nemesis) the daily lawsuits.
That, fellow fiends, is why I need that $100,000 membership fee.
PS: Communicate to P. Halpren, that I have not received her's, either. (And, after all that I have done to elevate "thenewstalkers.communists" over all these years. It doesn't seem equitable.
Come on folks, $100 G's is not anything, anymore.
If some of you haven't noticed, the "juicy parts" are in the comments, not the article. That is a tease.
"Money, Honey is all I need!"
Sure I am crazy, but, who among you is NOT?