Mitch McConnell Meets the Grim Reaper - A Christmas Story
Mitch McConnell walks into his house after a long Christmas day spent ensuring that many American citizens will have no relief as this year ends.
He walks into his study, pulls the stopper out of the decanter and poured himself two fingers of Old Rip Van Winkle Kentucky Bourbon. Then, as he takes a sip, he hears a sound, a shift, a slight movement in the chair by the window.
Turning on the overhead light, he sees the figure in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, the black robe shifting from the movement. The scythe is propped against the chair by his side.
In his famous Kentucky drawl, McConnell says, "Well, well, well, I was wondering when you'd arrive."
Death leans slightly forward in the seat. "You've been using my name."
McConnell chuckles. "Didn't think you had a copyright on it."
Death shrugs. "It's OK. There have been others with such pretenses across the millennia. I just wanted you to know that you undershot the term. Something with such gravitas ... used to deny a few pieces of useless paper? Quite ... pitiable, actually."
McConnell says, "Is there a point to this? Are we gone dicker about names here or are we gonna get down to business?'
"Have it your way." Death stands, picks up the scythe, and says, "Time to go, Bitch."
"The name's Mitch."
Death laughs. "Not where you're going."
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