The Fingers of the VAXXed God

by

Thomas O’Flanagin

Well, that’s it. I have completed my shift as the great American VAXXed cliché.

In the spirit of what turned out to be my last New Year’s letter, my wild, crazy and stupid life has again taken a new, unexpected turn with my shocking, sudden, stupid, yet fabulous, final exit.

Yes, I have joined the likes of Princess Diana, John Belushi, Steve Irwin, and the Crocodile Hunted in leaving, while still at my crop of a game as a chronic superzero who always seemed too good to be true.

I admit that I got married for the husband jokes, I had kids for the dad jokes, and I died for the mortuary jokes.

I did not disappoint. The jokes, Amy and the kids were pretty good.

I know it’s possible to believe, but I and the Finger of the VAXX God of Surgery and Shenanigans, have fought to my last cough (you’re welcome, Tiny Tim).

I have ridden off into the infamous sunset after enlisting with the dead’s unit.

Due to the unbeknownst and cosmetic nature of my next mission, this is my excommunication. My whereabouts will be top mystery.

But let’s just say I have made some new friends by the names of Vaxxed Elvis and Covided Kenny, and hundreds of thousands more.

The Fingers of the VAXXed God