In the wake of the recent--and, admittedly, surprising--indictment of Goldman Sachs for fraud, Goldman alum/boot-licker Jim Cramer has had a particularly hard time keeping his famous temper under wraps.
During such tough times, when nobody else understands him, when everybody reminds him how often he's been wrong in the past, and he loses his voice from screaming too much, he has no choice but to call in sick and cry on the shoulder of his secret lover, Glenn Beck.
After all, if anybody understands a crier, it is Glenn Beck; if anybody understands the unfair situations that televised liars are put in, it is Glenn Beck.
But these two unfortunate media behemoths have had to be careful about their treasured trysts, since freedom-haters everywhere would love nothing more than to catch them in the act and ruin their lucrative careers by propagating lies in the liberal media.
This being the case, they wisely borrowed a page from the Book of Cruise/Travolta and only engage in homosexual liaisons while flying in a private plane, high above the prying eyes of truth-seekers.
And so it is that, just yesterday, after the inevitable crying-on-each-other's-shoulder foreplay at 30,000 feet, while deep in the throes of unbridled hate-fucking, Jim Cramer tried his best to scream--but no sound would come out!
Not one to go down without a fight, our Jim heroically summoned all his reserve energy and was finally able to emit a dog-whistle-pitched high-C-above-high-C-above-high-C.
Unfortunately, this superhuman effort also ruptured one of his numerous brain aneurysms and he immediately collapsed into a lifeless pile of bones and skin.
Always ahead of the game, Glenn picked up on Jim's death before it even happened, and had already begun the most hysterical crying jag of his entire life.
As soon as poor Glenn realized there were no cameras around to record his magnum opus, it was too much for him to handle and his own brain aneurysm finally fell victim to the communists.
Sadly, the tragedy did not end there, folks.
The dog-whistle screech emitted by St. Cramer shattered not only the eardrums of the two heroically-discreet pilots and the Tibetan-midget fluffer, but also every bit of glass in the entire plane.
The sudden loss of cabin pressure, inability to hear barked emergency orders, crazed midget, and mass confusion sent the luxurious, windowless Learjet 45 into a tailspin.
The doomed plane crashed to Earth somewhere in remote Tea-Bagger Appalachia, exploded on impact, and burned itself to dust, which was fittingly spread by the four winds over the country they loved perhaps too much, thus depriving the world of any evidence this ever happened.
As far as the rest of the world knows, thanks to the fine folks at FOX Propaganda, these two pillars of the American community merely had their fill of all the liberal bullshit choking America to death and bravely fled to Cayman Island obscurity--where the financial-criminal expats and descendants of slave traders know a thing or two about real freedom--to live out the rest of their lives in aristocratic peace, as historic heterosexual heroes who only have gay sex in private.
-God
April Fools!
Wait, I'm not late for that bus, am I? Oops--sorry!
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