Baby New Year’s Roast Of Father Time, 2017

Woo!   Hey everybody, how’s it going?    I have to say…  I was just born a few hours ago, and already it’s been rough.   You see this top hat that I’m wearing?   I was born with this fucking thing on my head!    Don’t worry about my mom, she didn’t feel a thing.    The woman has loose morals, and even looser privates.    That’s the world we live in, I guess, right folks?

Anyway, this hat… this fucking hat!     Covered in goop from my mom’s private area!    Yeeesh.   It took awhile to get across town for this show, and it’s tricky to find a dry cleaner open this time of night.   But I can’t show up here with that slimy goo all over my hat, right?   Know what I’m saying?   Lotsa gross stuff, just covering this hat, top to bottom.    A baby shouldn’t have to see that, right?    That’s all I’m sayin’.

Woo, big crowd!    According to Trump anyway, right?    Where is that piece of garbage, anyway?    Wasn’t he supposed to be here for this?    Kind of hard to miss him, his skin is the color of a chemo patient’s diarrhea.   Know what I’m saying?    Ah, well…. fuck ‘im.   He’d probably bring Roy Moore as his date, and I don’t trust that pervert around my diapered ass.

And anyway, woo…. yeah!    Speaking of old, senile shitheads…  where’s Father Time?    Where are you, ya old bastard?     Don’t let the door break your hip on the way out, ya useless fuck!

Nah, nah…  I kid Father Time, but it’s done out of love.    And sheer, white-knuckle terror as well.     He’s leaving me a situation much worse than how he found it!    It’s like taking a lovely young lady out for dinner and dancing right after she’s been through a nine hour gang bang!    Shit!    What the hell am I supposed to do with this?!    Thanks a lot, old man!

Heh.    Ah…  Woo!    Yeah, it’s okay.   I’m sure that it’ll be fine.     Either it will be fine, or we’ll all die in a fiery ball within the next few months, right?    And in either case, who gives a fuck?   Right?   Nothing for me to do but just sit here and take it.    Just like your wife, Tony Danza!    She just has to sit there and take it, right?   Ah, who’m I kidding.   You can’t get it up anymore, am I right?    What the fuck is he doing here anyway?    Does he think he’s auditioning for Celebrity Ice-Dance Hoedown or something?    Hey, Danza, wake up!!

Well, that sudden putrid aroma means that either the Apocalypse is nigh, or I’m in need of a changing.   To be honest, I’m betting that it’s both.

So, hey, hopefully I’ll see you fuckers next year!    Although I wouldn’t hold your breath.