So, I went to my local town meeting, because I want to be more involved in government and also it was next to the Jewel and I was pretty much out of OJ (the fruit juice, not the guy who killed his wife) (well, I don't think they had him either, but I didn't really look), and there were some nice clean-cut young men there shouting that in his healthcare plan Obama wants to kill everyone over the age of 75. Well, I just want to say, I was outraged. Why have I never heard about this before? (I mean, apart from because I get all my news from the News Of the World.) (Dude, have you seen the dog-face-boy? He has a face like a dog.) Because I have to tell you: my mama is 76  and I just want to ask President Obama: where do I go to sign up?

            I've been reading a lot recently about the Eskimos and how they put their old people on an ice floe and launch them into the Bering Strait. They are a wise people, the Inuit. Except for how they live in ice-houses and eat blubber. That shit's kinda chewy and gross, you know? It's, like, whale fat, for fuck's sake. But I am totally down with launching Mama into the ocean on an ice floe. Or, you know, maybe into Lake Michigan with like just a few bags of ice from the 7-11. I'm flexible. Unlike Mama.

            It's not that Mama and I have that bad a relationship, honestly. For example, I was feeling a little sentimental the other day and reminiscing with Mama about how she never drowned me in the bathtub when I was a baby. "Yeah, because I was always too drunk to remember to," she replied. She's just such a kidder. Well, except about the being drunk part, because she really was. I mean, like, a whole lot.

            And also, I've totally forgiven Mama for forgetting to pick me up at summer camp that one time. I got to meet so many nice people hitchhiking home from California. I mean, how many nine-year-olds get to work with illegal immigrants picking lettuce? It really opened my eyes to the dangers of not moving fast enough when people are swinging machetes. She was just so forgetful back then; I think the Alzheimer's has actually improved her memory. It's too bad it didn't do the same for her temper, though.

             No, I don't bear Mama any ill will, but she is literally costing me an arm and a leg, what with her having to have her arm and leg amputated. (Well, it's literally costing her an arm and a leg, but Mama has boundary issues.) (Also: last time I give her chocolates for Mother's Day. Apparently you're not supposed to do that for a diabetic.) (Awww…it just occurred to me that if Obama's health plan does allow me to have Mama killed, I won't have any more Mother's Days with her.) (I wonder what Aruba's like in May?) And you know what? The hospital wouldn't actually take the arm and leg in payment. I think that's false advertising, or something. I thought about taking at least the arm myself, because of that funny joke I remembered ("Stop hitting yourself! Stop hitting yourself!") but they wouldn't give it to me. I guess the doctors have people they want to do that joke to--it's not as funny if it's not your own arm, though. Doctors have no sense of humor.

            So it's Mama's time to go. And mine too. In my case, to Aruba.

            Now, I would never try to convince Mama to go in and be killed. So I'm not going to tell her; I'll just, you know, drop her off on the stoop of the old-people-killing place and run away. She wouldn't follow--she's not good with steps, what with being down one arm and one leg. I figure once the people in the old-people-killing place find someone on their stoop, they're pretty much going to be obligated to kill her. It's like how a church has to take in babies. I think maybe unless they're Jewish babies.

            (Awww…I was just thinking how cute a baby in a yarmulke would be.)

            I wonder if Mama will somehow sense that I'm taking her to the old-people-killing place and make a big fuss, the way she does when I steal drugs from her tray? Maybe I should buy chloroform. Oh, that's silly: where do you even get chloroform? No, I'll just bring my baseball bat. No use getting fancy; I think the old tried-and-true things are the best. Except, of course, for Mama.

            I have to say, I'm kind of curious how the old-people-killing place will do it, kill her, I mean. I'd hate it if they shot her. (I'd still let them do it, but I'd hate it.) I admit, that's mostly because of how I was thinking at the wake we'd stuff her full of candy and let the neighborhood kids whack her with a stick until the candy fell out, and but it'd be too easy to break her open if she was all shot up. Maybe they could tan her, like they do leather. Or maybe deep-fry her. What isn't better deep-fried? Even Mama.

            So, anyway, I was kind of going back and forth about Obama's healthcare plan, but now I'm a big checkmark in the "Hells yeah!" column. Bring it on, Barack. And I'll bring Mama. And leave her. And run away.