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Guns n’ Pleurosis

The second in an occasional series of advice columns from the immediate future.

Dear Abby Agony: I know you’re probably not a lawyer, but I need some legal advice. I have a business degree from Wharton, just like Dear Leader Trump, but ever since the Crash of ’25 I’ve been employed in sandwich engineering at Wendy’s, which as you can imagine does not leave me with enough disposable income to pay off my student loans. So I decided to earn some much-needed cash by posing as an abortion provider online and then suing rape victims in Texas who contact me, because allowing them not to carry their rapist’s child would only be compounding tragedy with tragedy. Good idea, right? I made enough last year to keep the interest on my student loan from capitalizing! Unfortunately, I’m gay and I occasionally work as a substitute teacher here in Live Oak, Florida, and even though I’m careful never to say anything about my personal life, one of the little twerps’ parents found out and is suing me now for violating Don’t Say Gay! What should I do?—Hoist by My Own Petard in Live Oak

Dear Captain Petard: Oh dear. I know this is very unfortunate, but the good news is that you’re under a misapprehension: Don’t Say Gay only allows gay-hating parents to sue the school district, not the teacher. You won’t be subbing again anytime soon, because the Suwannee County, Florida Public Schools will probably go bankrupt from the lawsuit you provoked, if they haven’t already fired your litigious ass, but personally you won’t be affected. Also, the current 250% annual inflation rate will quickly erode the value of the principal you owe on your student loans, although it’s possible this subject wasn’t covered in a Wharton education, which can’t be worth much considering that they awarded the Very Stable Genius a degree.

Dear Abby Agony: I’m just beside myself! My no-good son Kyle stopped playing Call of Duty: Kenosha Riot long enough to call me from my ex-wife’s house and ask me to sign his gun permit application. I was happy to do it because I thought it would help him to get off the goddamn couch long enough to learn how to be a man! Well, the little perv went out and bought an AR-15 and mowed down an entire nursery school full of shrieking toddlers! Now they’re blaming ME, when it’s clearly his mother’s fault for breaking up our happy family home just because I knocked up some girl at work. They’re even talking about filing criminal charges against me! What the heck should I do?—Aggrieved Dad in Bowling Green

Dear Bowling for Toddlers: My first thought was to tell you to get in touch with the National Rifle Association, but they have moved their headquarters to the Cayman Islands, where Wayne La Pierre keeps three of his yachts, so I guess that’s out. Well, that wasn’t my first thought, which was combined with a prayer for that all-American hero. Anyhow, you’re in luck, since the Supreme Court’s decision in Jack the Ripper v. State of California legalized universal open carry in all fifty states. That means the legal climate is much friendlier to you as you plan your lawsuit against the local attorney general for infringing on your individual right to arm maniacs.

Dear Abby Agony: I’m sure you won’t recognize my name, but I used to be a senator and the most powerful man in the country, a much bigger deal than the President. For two glorious years, I made the Great Election Thief himself come crawling to me every time he wanted to do anything (I hope you know who I mean, since we aren’t allowed to mention his name under the Supreme Court’s recent decision in Trump v. Fake Lying News Media, which Clarence Thomas authored). But since the Glorious MAGA Congressional Takeover, not to mention the return of the Very Stable Genius, no one invites me to Georgetown cocktail parties anymore! Dear Lord, I feel as outcast as Alan Dershowitz in Martha’s Vineyard ! I’m contemplating going down into one of those abandoned coal mines in my home state that America’s Greatest President keeps saying are coming back, and smothering myself in beautiful, clean coal gas, which will hopefully kill me right away and not give me black lung disease or pleurosis or something. Please talk me out of it. —Despondent in D.C.

Dear Despondent: Do it.

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