I’ve had occasion over the past decade to meditate upon my own mortality.

And I was speaking to a friend the other day whose husband is my age and who is going through, as she says, a mid-life crisis. I asked her if it was because he was witnessing his youth slip away. No, she replied, it was because he feared that he had not accomplished as much in life as he felt he might have.

I feel like I have wrung every last bit of potential from my life. I sucked out the marrow. I became America’s Senior Comedian and I did it my way. I may not have many tangible fruits of my labors, but those theoretical seeds I’ve planted will one day bear their bounty to the betterment of all. I’ve righted many wrongs in this world. And I laid down the law for so many who so richly needed the reminder.

My father died nine years ago thinking I was a loser. He thought I was lazy. He couldn’t bear the thought that people knew that one of his sons contented himself with working at a gas station. What he did not know, and what I knew no means of explaining to him, was that I was working. I was biding my time. I was building the stage upon which I now walk. This is my property. I built it, I command it, and I own it.

My father’s final words to me were that he wanted me to sell my house and leave town.

My father would be very proud of me. From his vantage point now of possessing perfect understanding, he would see the logic in all that I did. He would finally have reason to boast that I was his son. I know that my father loves me and that he is proud.

I lived in a shack in the woods for a couple of years recently. It was my own Walden Pond. It was there that I developed the arguments whereby I terminated the moral person known as United States. It was a lonely place, me and some chickens. Little Miss One Eye. She got eaten, albeit not by me. She got eaten by a weasel. I found her one-eyed head on the ground one morning. “Oh well,” I thought. “Maybe she’ll come home next time instead of wandering off.”

I would bathe in the pond below the window through which I would regard the glorious sunrise. I would sit alone in the evening by the light of an oil lamp and idly turn in my fingers a Sheriff’s badge that I had found in the house. Who knows how it got there and for what purpose. Maybe the old man who had spent his final twenty years there left it for me. Maybe he knew that someone he would never meet would make good use of it.

I remember looking at the inside of the door one night. The only thing standing between me and all who would enjoy my demise was a flimsy little hook and eye. That was it. That was what kept the world out. I said to myself, “Maybe I should install a better lock.”

And that still, small voice in my head said, “It’s a stage prop.” And that was all there was to be said on the matter. God’s economy of speech.

So I thought about it for the rest of the evening. “It’s a stage prop. …Like a window? A window on a set? A window that it doesn’t matter if it works or not because the script doesn’t call for any character to ever open it?” Bingo. The hook-and-eye lock was just a stage prop. The script didn’t call for it ever to need to work. The script did not call for any character ever to come to harm me.

And that is why I do not fear death. I fear nothing in my future. God will orient this world such that I am permitted to read my lines for the duration of my role, whatever that may be. And there is nothing that any other earthly or heavenly entity can do to change that.

I ask God every day to please not lose faith in me. I pledge every day that I will play my role and that I will always make Him proud of me.

Humans will prevail over Satan and his malformed minions. I know that because it is in the script. And they know that. What compels them to fight when they already know the outcome, I’ve no idea. Maybe they aren’t very bright.

Praise Jesus Christ and pass the dunamis. Clothe me and begin the DNA-tuned app download. I’m ready. Engage.

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I am America’s Senior Comedian. Thank you for your kind attention in this matter.

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