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I Find an Entrance to Hell I’m with my mother in the Social Security office in Honolulu, and Karen J. Kapenski is sitting across the desk telling this 80-year-old woman she’ll make no money from my father’s death, like she lived in that prison over fifty years for a check every month, and worse than that particular poop, Queen Karen reveals Ronald Reagan is responsible, which is a bugger since Mom voted for him both times. On the wall is a portrait of the current undersecretary of Satan and his grand vizier, a skinny bully and his heavy, with vice-Satan’s head sunk into his chest like melted beeswax, YoungWorthless with his simp’s smirk, and I think,What a phiz, and I know she’s going to vote for them again.There’s a proverb, cheesy but apropos, lurking in here somewhere, but I’m as dead as my dad, easygoing deacon & ladies’ man who never thought of anyone but himself. “God has him now,” Mom says, but here are the numbers.You do the math. 35 ...

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