Twilight On Sean Hannity
In a tiny apartment located just above Nosferatu Steel Wool Concern, a freshly showered Sean Hannity pops a spaghetti-and-meatballs Hot Pocket into the microwave and grits his teeth, waiting desperately for the sun to rise. He will sit there eating various on-the-go meals and gassily wait for hours.
Somewhere in his deep, coupon-bloated pockets, a phone rings. “Probably just Huckabee.. Left his stomach staple here again,” he mumbles to himself. “Better let America’s Voicemail pick it up.” Cracking his knuckles and drumming his fingertips along “A Patriot’s History of the United States”, he soon grows terrified of the encroaching silence. The whir of the microwave and his Josh Groban ringtone have dissipated and he now has only his horrible brain to console him as his nuked turnover cools.
Finally, his patience runs out after five seconds of practicing his best “tell me how that isn’t communist evil” stare, and he checks the new message. “Hi, Sean, this is Elisabeth Hasselbeck again. I had a lot of fun at the Palin rally last night. What can I say? Your eyebrows just soothe me.” Hannity then defaults to a patented reassuring smile, unzips his pants and lets the musky cologne of failure envelope him as the recording plays out.
What else can he do while waiting for a new day to begin? Fleshy cyborgs like him run on negativity fuel-cells, and the self-recharging talking head hasn’t had to feel tired in over a decade. “The truth never sleeps,” he says to nobody, and masturbates himself to completion inside the newest issue of Savvy Shopper. “It’s time to get this country back on track.”
