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A Conversation About Whether to Piss on Tom Delay

Tom DeLay (on fire): OH GOD! OH NO! I AM BURNING TO DEATH!

Me: I don't know, man. What should we do?

My Roommate: It's tough. It's tough.

Tom DeLay: THE PAIN! IT'S UNBEARABLE!

Me: Yeah, but... I mean, we should do something. Shouldn't we?

My Roommate: I guess.

Me: But what?

My Roommate: We could... No.

Me: What?

My Roommate: Well, we could... piss on him.

Me: Piss on Tom DeLay?

My Roommate: We could.

Tom DeLay: SOMEBODY PLEASE DO SOMETHING! I CAN SMELL MY OWN FLESH ROASTING!

Me: Well, let's think about this for a moment. Let's not rush into anything.

My Roommate: Absolutely.

Me: The way I see it, we have two choices. We can either piss on Tom DeLay. Or we could... not.

My Roommate: Shit! It's a tough decision.

Me: It is. Ordinarily, I would piss on Tom DeLay in a heartbeat.

My Roommate: Me too.

Me: But...

My Roommate: He's on fire.

Me: Exactly.

Tom DeLay: SWEET JESUS! THE FLAMES HAVE TORN THROUGH THE FIRST SEVERAL LAYERS OF SKIN! MY NERVE ENDINGS ARE A MILLION POINTS OF INDESCRIBABLE PAIN!

My Roommate: That's what complicates matters.

Me: Because... you know...

My Roommate: Oh, I know.

Me: If he wasn't on fire, I'd be pissing on him right now.

My Roommate: Me too.

Me: It's the fire.

My Roommate: Think of it like this, though. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to piss on Tom DeLay. Fire or not.

Me: You're right.

Tom DeLay: WHY WON'T ANYBODY HELP ME?! ALL OF MY TIME SERVING THE GREAT STATE OF TEXAS IN THE UNITED STATES CONGRESS DOES NOT NEARLY EQUAL THE HORROR OF THIS ALL-CONSUMING ANGUISH!!

My Roommate: It's tempting.

Me: If he wasn't Tom DeLay...

My Roommate: And he was on fire?

Me: Yeah.

My Roommate: Like, if he was Bill Frist?

Me: I might piss on Bill Frist if he was on fire.

My Roommate: Really?

Me: Yeah. I might.

My Roommate: What if he was Rick Santorum?

Me: No, screw that guy. I'd cook hotdogs.

Tom DeLay: EVERY ONE OF MY NERVE ENDINGS HAVE BEEN SINGED FROM MY DISFIGURED BODY! WHY DOES THE PAIN NOT CEASE?!

My Roommate: That reminds me. You still haven't washed the dishes from, like, two nights ago.

Me: I know. I'll get around to it.

Tom DeLay: THE PHANTOM PAIN OF LOST FLESH IS A THOUSAND-FOLD WORSE THAN THE GENUINE PAIN I WAS EXPERIENCING MERE MOMENTS AGO!

My Roommate: You say that all the time.

Me: I'll wash them.

Tom DeLay: WHY DOES MY BRAIN NOT GRANT ME BLISSFUL UNCONSCIOUSNESS?!

My Roomate: When?

Me: Tonight.

Tom DeLay: WHY DOES NO PERSON COME TO MY RESCUE?!

My Roommate: I'm skeptical.

Me: Whatever. Anyway, what were we talking about?

My Roommate: Hotdogs.

Me: Before that.

Tom DeLay: THESE FLAMES! THESE TONGUES OF FIRE! FROM WHAT DO THEY FEED?! THERE IS NO TISSUE LEFT TO BURN!

My Roommate: I can't remember.

Me: It's on the tip of my brain.

My Roommate: Oh! Tom DeLay. He's on fire.

Tom DeLay: I PRAY FOR THE MERCIFUL EMBRACE OF DEATH!

Me: God, yeah. I'm so stupid.

My Roommate: You can't remember everything.

Me: I guess.

My Roommate: Do you know what we could do?

Me: What?

My Roommate: We could beat the fire off of him with a baseball bat.

Tom DeLay: AND YET DEATH DOES NOT ARRIVE TO COLLECT ITS DUE! WHY?! WHY??!!

Me: That's an interesting idea.

My Roommate: Would you be willing to beat the fire off of Tom DeLay with a baseball bat?

Me: I might be willing to beat the fire off of Tom DeLay with a baseball bat.

Tom DeLay: THERE IS NO FATE ON GOD'S EARTH THAT CAN POSSIBLY BE AS BAD AS THE ONE THAT I AM EXPERIENCING THIS VERY MOMENT!! PLEASE! MAY THE GRIM REAPER BRING THE SWEET RELEASE OF DEATH!!

My Roommate: Do you know who I'd like to beat the fire off of with a baseball bat?

Me: Trent Lott?

My Roommate: No, but that's good.

Me: Thank you.

My Roommate: Karl Rove.

Me: Of course you would. Who wouldn't want to beat the fire off of Karl Rove with a baseball bat?

My Roommate: Well, I would.

Me: That's not original.

My Roommate: I would.

Me: Fine.

My Roommate: Anyway. Tom DeLay. On fire.

Tom DeLay: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Me: I'm still on the fence.

My Roommate: C'mon, man. He's on fire.

Me: I'm thinking. I'm thinking.

My Roommate: Don't you want to be the morally better man?

(Tom DeLay finally collapses to the ground, a smoldering charred corpse.)

Me: You're right. I know you're right. We should piss on Tom DeLay.

My Roommate: It's the decent thing to do.

Me: Alright, let's do this.
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