The Re-Return Of Morgan Freeman: The Quest Continues

There was a deathly calm to the night. There was no wind and you could hear the city slowly coming to life in the wee hours of the morning. The grey sky, with a tiny streak of dull orange piercing it, indicated to him that it was time to go. He had to be quiet. His reputation hinged on his ability to be quiet and discreet. From a young age he had learnt the virtue of discretion and valued it. Now he would need all his experience, all his skills to sneak past the girl he had just slept with.

He thought of wearing his clothes but decided to just pick them up and leave as fast as possible. He was just about to sneak out of the room when he heard her say “Baby are you leaving?”

He froze. This was not good. This woman was crazy and he did not want to spend an awkward morning with her which could lead to further trouble. So he improvised.

“Heeeeeeeey, you. I have Cancer.”

Smooth as fuck, he silently crept away, proud of himself for not panicking in a tricky situation and handling himself with aplomb.

This is Morgan Freeman and yada yada yada, you know the drill by now.


They called her El Batshit Crazy One in Mexico. But today, she was meeting up with a friend at a Starbucks.

“Oh my Gaawd, he said what? He had cancer? Is that an STD? How can you get cancer, isn’t your sun sign assigned to you based on your date of birth?

“I don’t know, maybe he got to know his date of birth right then. Who knows. He was sooo cute and dreamy. I hope he calls me.”

“He’ll call you. And if he doesn’t my dad is Liam Neeson and he has a particular set of skills.”

“Oh my gaawd, do you think I could get cancer because I slept with him?”


Meanwhile, after slinking away from the crazy girl’s house, Mat (short for Matt) was driving back to his house when he got a call from his mother.

Putting on his most authentic Italian voice, he picked up the call and said “Ayy Ma, How you doin’?”

“Cut the fake Italian crap. We’re god damm 6th generations Koreans for Korean Christs sake. Your dad is about to die, come home.”


Sitting in the hallway outside his dying father’s room, he felt sad. He had never been close to his father but had always respected him. Losing him would be tough.

His mother came out and told him that his father was fading fast and wanted to see him one last time. He braced himself for an emotionally turbulent last talk with his father and went in.

As soon as he sat down, his father said “Let’s cut the sob stuff. Listen closely. I was a general in the army for the Nazis and looted a lot of money from rich people in the concentration camps.”


“Yeah. Later on I became a professional hitman and killed over 168.53 people. I killed children too. Royal children, of course, I am not a demon after all.”


“Yeah. Oh, also, I am gay and have another family with my husband Nico.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. We always suspected something.”

“OK. And also, you are adopted. And I love Nickelback”

And then, Mat’s father left this world to go to a better one.

His mother came in and held Mat. Trembling, Mat said “Mom, I’m shocked.”

“Hi Shocked, I’m Dad.”

Mat’s mother had advanced dementia and bipolar disorder and a ’67 Camry.


In the autopsy, it was found that Mat’s father died due to arsenic poisoning. Initially, Arsene Wenger and Arsenal FC were suspected but it was later found out that the poison was not named after the French manager or the perennially woeful football club. Doubts still lingered but both the club and it’s manager were cleared. Suspicions quickly turned to his lover Nico. Nico was found guilty and given a death sentence. All his appeals were unsuccesful and Nico was killed by lethal injection.

It turned out that the person who had carried out the autopsy had been drunk while performing it. In his defense, he said “Lol, jk. ROFL. Hey, shit happens. No offense bruh. YOLO.”


“Hey dad, I have a hole in my shoe.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, it’s how you get your foot in it. God damn it son, you’re fucking 38 years old for fuck’s sake. Get your shit together!”

“Dad I’m hurt.”

“Hi Hurt, I’m dad.”


“The moral of the story is

You can’t trust the system


– Lonely Island




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