Hello, my friends!

If you’re reading these words, it means I have been tragically eliminated at the hands of the State. I believe it is imperative that the truth show up before the lies get too far down the road. To that end, earlier last year, I purchased a mobile security device through which this message will be blasted to the entire world in the event of my demise, if it is violent. The software is super slick. It triggers the immediate publishing of this letter if certain conditions are detected, e.g. the microchip in my head registers that it is rolling in the street, or I have suffered a blunt impact injury at a great speed. My metrics have been entered into the system and I am, notably, not speedy. Any sort of sudden acceleration of body parts will be correctly interpreted as violent in nature.

Cool, right? The subscription wasn’t cheap, but I was able to swing it thanks to the check from George Soros that I got for services rendered to the left-wing conspiracy.

The Department of Homeland Security and Kristi Noem have by now already fed a stream of sewage about me into the public sphere, so let’s set the record straight. Whatever you’ve heard so far was already canned and triggered within minutes of my violent erasure, or an hour or two if it happened during the weekend news cycle, and can be dismissed outright. Herewith some salient points:

I have never correctly been accused of being an agitator. More an agitatee, to be clear, and although that has led to many ejaculations (written and oral) of a crass nature, it is not true that any of them have had any effect on any thing at any time.

For instance, any statements attributed to me referring to someone in the public sphere being hanged upside down in the public square (say), or involving a guillotine or medieval rack, or even the sacrifice of a chicken, or its featherage, were meant to be purely aspirational in nature. For the record, I do not wish my enemies dead. I wish them, every thieving one of them, poor. Poor as hell, ragged, stinking, dumpster-dining, and only able to accumulate funds they earned doing good and/or honest work. Window-washing. Butt-wiping. Toilet-scrubbing.

I do not have a long history of licentiousness and vulgarity. Just the vulgarity. The licentiousness was pretty much limited to the ‘70s, and even I can’t remember them clearly. Pictures or it didn’t happen! There are pictures? Well then. Never mind.

I also do not have a long history of rousing rabble. I have been rabble, and have been roused, starting with my first march on Washington in 1968, but that was just, like, yesterday. Wasn’t it? I went with my dad, which makes it wholesome.

Speaking of, it is not true that I was raised by a famous Communist. My father’s membership in the Communist Party was brief, during his college years, during the Calvin Coolidge administration, when it was only sensible. Furthermore, my father was not at all famous.

It is not true that I threatened any officers of the Federal Government with my tiny loud face. It is true that my face is tiny, but not really all that loud. I may be hard to ignore in small social situations, but I rarely get up enough volume out in the wild to win a bingo game. Even if I could project, I do not like to wreck my throat, in case I ever decide to break into song.

I did not weaponize my Skechers. They are small and roundish. If any contact between them and a federal agent’s face did occur, it was an inadvertent result of my propensity for tipping over when suddenly tromped upon.

It is also not true that I had ties to a Central American terrorist organization. That is a fabrication based loosely on a sixteen-year relationship with my dog Boomer, who was half terrier and half Chihuahua. Making her a Mexican terrierist. In any case, she has long since gone to that Somali restaurant in the sky.

It is not true that I am an avowed anti-Fascist. Wait, that one is true.

In sum, I did not have this coming, no matter what you may have heard. I was cut down before my time. Not a lot before my time, at this point, but still. The point is, I wasn’t done yet. Let it be known.