I've made an enormous ass of myself

You get two things from assuming: an ass out of U and an ass out of me.
Massa, the Manchurian candidate to my career.
Uncle Rupe fired my team of twitter warriors this morning. Came in and just sent them home. I could try to blame it on Obama, but my heart just isn't in it, right now. Here I sit, alone in my little office, unable to even form a conspiracy in my paranoid mind.
I need new material. Pointing at a map and delineating areas owned by the federal government is soooooo done, played out. Every city council has a designated duffer to pull this hack routine. Then they say "and how much is that in lost tax revenue?" I forgot even this crucial line from the schtik.
Something's not clicking anymore. Oh, FEMA camps, where are you now? Where are the heady days, of thrilled masses cheering my name at The Villages, where seniors are still spry enough to get STDs?
And you've got to admire that. I guess I could learn from it.
Uncle Rupe won't even look at me anymore.
I really screwed the pooch when I suggested churchgoers stop going to church if the pastor spoke of "social justice"; in so doing, breaking my cardinal rule: don't mess with someone's god. Gods? Okay. yeah, slam those pagan sons of bitches, agnostic? Oh heck yeah, loafers deserve it. But not the Big G, where the J-man lives.
Whoa is me.
Doing a whole show without advertisers was the lonliest moment of my life:
Et tu TurboTax? Et tu?