Miracle Cure

Miracle Cure

Posted on February 1, 2021 at 12:52 pm by Teddy Palmer

Oh please, do enlighten me, Miraculous One.

I am but a fool. A Court Jester, if you will. A performer of common folk, who has been stuck in this pattern, trudging through the same tired routine. Some hint towards a lack of imagination. Others have said far worse, accusing this clown of slumping towards the depths of…corniness…


The evidence doesn’t lie, I’m struggling. I’m drowning in this vast ocean of blah. There’s not but one thing unique about this Son of God lookalike. No, not that SON or that GOD. The other two. I must ask you, kindly of course, be it I’m Canadian, to help me. Teach me the way of innovation! The creativity that is exhausted stereotypes and classless abortion quips aimed to maximize ‘shock factor’. 

Oh, and if there’s time, I’d love to master the art of one’s words possessing the same basic elements of general anesthesia: unconsciousness and amnesia.

Shhhhhh. Be vewy vewy quiet…You’ve put the High Octane audience to sleep…again.

Get fucked ya Elmer Fudd lookin’ turtle waxer.

Corny, I know.

In all seriousness, I do need your help understanding something that’s quite disjointed about your approach. What’s with the LT obsession when your focus should be on moi? What’s with the LT obsession in general? If we’re being honest with one another, and I feel we’ve comfortably reached that point, it’s super fuckin’ weird.

Call it a hunch, but something tells me you’re no stranger to restraining orders.

Like, it’s cool to have feelings for someone. That’s not the issue. It’s your constant need to play gynaecologist and discuss fertility status. Your incessant desire to speculate about her sexy time and the five W’s. The childish jabs that reek of ‘notice me puh-leeze’, and the grandiose claims that scream ‘I’ve never been with a woman I haven’t paid for’. 

Ladies and Gentleman, Steve Harrison: The pathetic love child of jealousy and inadequacy. 

And I’m the simp. Riiiiiiiiiight…

Your eyes are veering, Steve. They should be focussed on the DeNucci Cup. And you most certainly aren’t paying close enough attention to this dangerous Mother Canucker standing right infront of you. There’s no lump sum large enough that’ll have me step aside, and I warn you to reroute that simplemind to all things Ted. If not, well, it’ll make caving in that fuckin’ chrome dome an effortless task on my part.

I know, I know. It’s tough. How can you focus when she doesn’t even know you exist? They don’t say ‘Simpin’ ain’t easy’ for shits and giggles. Have you tried yelling ME repeatedly?

It didn’t make a lick of difference? Schucks…

You and I, were far from equals, that’s fact. I’m better than you. Past, present and future. There’s not a single thing special about some carbon copy of every Shark Tank reject. Nope. You’re that disappointing piece of shit that arrives from Wish, when I was the advertised product ordered. There’s an electricity in the air when I’m entertaining my audience, yet the very sight of you has people pleading to go blind, deaf and dumb.

Do you think it’s just a coincidence that GOD lost full eyesight once The Miracle Man arrived? I think not.

Maybe if you had some fuckin’ passion for High Octane, I’d be telling a different story. But no. You’d rather pop a chubb channel hopping between HSN and QVC, dreaming of your big break. Why dedicate time to the craft of tearing muscles and breaking bones when there’s oh so many bedroom windows calling out to Peepin’ Tom. Better yet, let’s sacrifice SUCCESS for ‘success’

Take it from this try hard. The road to SUCCESS is fuckin’ treachorious, but arriving is oh so sweet. But hey, why fight and claw when you can set up a roadside kiosk and watch the real winners pass you by?

You’re a pyramid scheme of failure. A pile of shit stacked on a pile of shit stacked on a pile shit. There’s no end to your toxic fumes.

But you’re The Plague, right? 

A fuckin’ rat who has roamed the Best Arena with complete disregard. You’ve preyed on the innocent,  infecting many with that ‘vicious’ bite of yours. 

But for every yin, there’s a yang.

So enjoy what time you have left, spreading like the disease that you are. It ain’t gonna last much longer. The Miracle Cure waits in Round Three.

I wouldn’t bother flipping through your sales pitch either.

It’s UnscripTED.

How’s that for Enlightenment?