Oh My God! I Killed the Chupacabra!

     Indeed, the pen is mightier than the sword.  At least, mine seems to be pretty dang lethal lately. 

    For example, I wrote about Floyd Landis winning the Tour de France with a bad hip, and look what happened there?  He wound up having more testosterone in his system than the entire Italian World-Cup winning soccer team, and now, it seems, his Father-in-Law committed suicide.  I'm sorry Floyd.  I was just writng, ya know. 

    Then there's the things I wrote about Ken Lay, and look what happened to him. 

    Anyway, yesterday, in my anniversary entry, I added the deadly, man-eating Chupacabra, and now they found a dead animal in Maine that, as far as I'm concerned, is, in fact, the afformentioned deadly, man-eating Chupacabra (You can thank me later, Puerto Rico.  Tonight, let the rivers of rum flow, and sleep well, my friends.  You no longer need to fear the deadly, man-eating Chupacabra, for he is dead, and I killed him with my words). 

     If this keeps up, I'm going to start rigging elections and building my empire.  If I ever say that George Bush is the best President in the history of best Presidents, you know he's doomed.  Oh, Donald Rumsfeld is a nice, sweet man consumed with love and peaceful intentions, and Pat Robertson will live forever because of his God-defying, Jesus-juice milkshakes that gave him the strength to leg-press a freakin' ton. 

-DP