Larry Thack’s Christmas list is a humble request for his bathroom doorknobs to be replaced

The other day I was sandwiched between three groups of people at our local donut place. Each group was carrying on with their general complaints about society.
Behind me was a couple teenage girls who were enraged that their server kept saying “yes sir” to their father, claiming that such “gender identification” is insulting and will one day be banned. Across from these commies was a table full of nicely dressed men and women with embroidered Bibles. They were thrilled that their “Religious Freedom Bill” scared away a Facebook factory that was looking to drop a shipping container filled with cash on Fayette County. Sadly they failed to realize that industry might’ve called home their rebellious children and with a more prosperous, job-filled economy they could’ve built an even larger, tackier mega-church. A third table was having a rousing discussion about the classic Christmas song, “Baby It’s Cold Outside.” Apparently Bill Cosby ruined that song for everyone.
I have thusly decided to start talking to myself in public. It’s the only way to drain out all this propaganda. My first attempt at doing this was somewhat meditative. I would chant divisive and melodic words while staring straight ahead for several minutes until the room was silent or cleared. Recreating discussions I have had with my various doctors seems to also quiet things down. “So, how do you think I got viral meningitis? All I ever do is visit the donut shop. Well, I’m not going to stop going to the donut shop. Or attending city council meetings – I’m not going to stop going to those. And you can’t keep me from being Santa this year and breathing on children. Oh and if you think I’m missing karaoke night at the pizza place well you better think again.” “Okay, okay” laughs the doctor – “you’re off the hook.”