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Hello, friends. I’m here to tell you a story. An important story. A sad story. My story.

I was a child growing up in the 80s and 90s. I was probably a lot like your children are now. I was kind, generous, intelligent, and studeous. I got all As in my classes and nine offers to prestigeous universities such as Yale, Harvard, and Standford by the age of 7. My lemonade stand was generating $60,000 of revenue a week, which I all donated to the homeless and hungry. I had 100 close friends, was the pride of my teachers, and was working on two theses: one which would end world hunger and the other which would create world peace. I was a decathlete and had already won four gold medals in events designed for people ten years older than me. I read approximately three books per minute. I subsisted completely on soy products and my carbon footprint began with a negative sign…meaning my existence on Earth actually allowed OTHER people to live on it. I loved my parents…giving my mom a $10,000 diamond necklace for her birthday and plucking my father out of a vat of molten steel he fell into and personally siphoning the liquid iron off of him. He didn’t even have a rash when I was done. It looked like I had a promising future…

But then…my parents made the first in a series of horrible mistakes common to parents in the 1980s-1990s that caused me irreparable damage that no amount of therapy or counseling will ever cure.

They made the mistake of showing me a five second scene on Sesame Street where Cookie Monster ate a box of cookies.

From that very second forth, I never touched a vegetable again, and I haven’t to this day. I would subsist only on food items that were 95% trans fat and cholesterol at minimum. My average snack became 12,000 calories. I wouldn’t drink water or even soda but only milkshakes with real pieces of butter and bacon mixed in with them. I never exercised again. No…whenever the neighbor children wanted to play a ball game, I sat at home and helped myself to a 10 gallon canister of lard. Now I weigh 1,382 pounds and every vein and artery in my body is an artificial stint, because otherwise they long would have collapsed under my fat. That was bad enough for a while…but bearable…

Until my parents made the mistake of letting me watch a “G.I. Joe” cartoon where they said the word “death” once.

From that point on, any time I didn’t spend in suicidal depression I was skinning live animals, dismembering babies, and practicing satanic witchcraft. I dyed my hair, lips, eyes, skin and tongue black and wore nothing but barbed chains. I painted out my windows and lived in a blank cell, only coming out for an hour each day to do charcoal etchings of children being stabbed to death. At this point, I am in such deep depression that I need a machine to predigest my food, bellow my lungs, and even keep my heart beating as I have completely lost the will to go on.

Yet even that wasn’t the worst. My parents continued to let me watch the unsafe television…and I was unfortunate enough to see an episode of “Batman: The Animated Series” where someone pulled a gun on Batman.

After that, I became a dangerous psychopath. I burned down my church while it was in service the next day before visiting three kindergartens the next morning and killing everyone with shotguns and pipe bombs. I joined the Neo Nazis, the KKK, the Anarchists, and any other group I could find so long as I could hate and murder as many people as possible. I cannot even pass by a school without having the inclination to immediately shoot everyone to death inside. The only time I ever show any hesitation is when I pause to consider that it may not be worth it if I can’t get a bullet magazine that won’t let me carry ten more bullets than my current ones, at which point I’m tempted to abandon this lifestyle and join the priesthood instead…but then I remember that we sell such things in stores and I decide to shoot up two schools instead.

Finally, and this was worst of all, my parents made the mistake of showing me an old Looney Tunes cartoon where a man smoked a cigarette.

Within twelve hours, I was smoking 127 cartons of cigarettes a day, and by that weekend I was taking every drug from marijuana to human pineal gland. Within a month I had developed cancer in my lungs, bones, brain, heart, testicles, skin, muscles, digestive tract, and even in four new locations that doctors didn’t previously know the human body had until I got cancer in them, and they all ended up being terribly important. The sheer amount of secondhand smoke I exhaled killed all life within an area around me the size of Dallas, Texas, including my twenty little sisters, all of whom wanted to grow up to be doctors who cured cancer, the first female USA presidents, and then retire to being nuns who would minister to the needs of the most impoverished and sick on Earth for the rest of their lives.

And as I sit back and think over my life…I can’t help but think…if only…if only…everything I had seen on TV had been ridiculously overcensored and santized like it is now…how much better my life would have turned out.

So the next time someone tells you “to ease up on censorship”, you just tell them…”NO amount of censorship is too much…if we can save just ONE life”.

…And since I’m sure at least one of you out there will think I was serious about half that stuff, this was a satire and a joke. I’m not depressed, I don’t belong to any hate groups, I’m not a murdering psychopath, I don’t smoke, and I’m fat for the right reason…I like American fast food.