Senator Ted Kennedy dies from brain tumor at age 327, welfare recipients mourn throughout state

Article by Beak Wilder / Photos courtesy of the World Wide Web

Senator Edward “Teddy” Kennedy died yesterday at his home in Hyannis Port, just two weeks after his sister, Eunice Kennedy Shriver, passed away from an undisclosed ailment.

Kennedy, who had been diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor in March of 2008, was said to have departed peacefully in his bed.

Born to the infamous Jew-hating, mafia-connected Joseph P. Kennedy, Sr., who is said to have made multiple millions of dollars through a well-blended mix of social networking and Prohibition era bootlegging, Senator Kennedy’s life had been destined for scrutiny and criticism since the very beginning.

Graduating from Milton Academy in 1950, Kennedy was quickly accepted to Harvard College, where he was expelled shortly after for cheating on a Spanish language exam. He was then reaccepted into Harvard after a brief stint in the United States Army, where his father’s political connections made sure that he was not deployed during the ongoing Korean War.

While attending law school, Kennedy met Manhattanville College student and occasional model, Joan Bennett. They were married in the fall of 1958, where they embarked on a journey of binge drinking, infidelity, and constant miscarriages.

In 1960, then-Senator John F. Kennedy, announced that he would run for President of the United States, giving younger Teddy the opportunity to manage his campaign in the Western states. Whether it be schmoozing, boozing, or fucking waitresses on tables during lunch breaks, Teddy was always ready for a challenge, and took on the task, helping his brother make it all the way to the Democratic National Convention.

Watching his brother succeed at things proved difficult for Teddy, and he quickly began to pursue his own achievements, nagging his father for a job, who eventually arranged for him to become elected Senator of Massachusetts.


Ted Kennedy in 1963, back when he still appeared to look somewhat human.

Two dead brothers and one plane crash later, Kennedy began to take on a drastic change in appearance. He spent months in the hospital, suffering from a back injury and a punctured lung. It was there, while whacked out on pain pills, ice cream, and smuggled pints of Cutty Sark, where he began developing idealistic thoughts of health care reform, in which the middle class working man pays dearly, and the welfare junkies with their hands out prevail.

From that point on, his unruly drinking habits were no longer only troublesome at home, as it was now a matter of public record, and a laughing matter amongst many Massachusetts locals. He became the sad clown, the fool, the idiot. He was like a courtroom jester, juggling nips of bourbon and signing documents, with the casual grace of a highly-medicated bear. And to make matters worse, his head had begun to take on the color and dimensions of a large, red briefcase.

Much of the public thought that this may be the end for Kennedy, but he still had a few tricks up his sleeve. Teddy wasn't done quite yet.

In the summer of 1969, while relaxing on Martha’s Vineyard’s Chappaquiddick Island, tossing back a few cold ones and fingering women behind his wife’s back, Kennedy snuck off from a party with 28-year-old Mary Jo Kopechne, for what he described as a “drunken, sweaty fuck.”

Being inebriated to the point of thinking his 1967 Oldsmobile could both fly and float, Kennedy drove off Dike Bridge into the Poucha Pond inlet. Leaving Kopechne to fight her own battles, Kennedy saved himself and did not alert authorities until the following morning. Being unable to hold her breath underwater for an entire night, Kopechne died, causing Kennedy to be forced to walk around with a fake neck brace for almost an entire week.

John Farrar, the diver who searched for her body the following morning believed Kopechne struggled for "at least two hours," making it pretty fucking clear that there was ample time to save her.


Ted Kennedy and his wicked pissed off wife attending Kopechne's funeral.

Almost a decade later, Kennedy decided that he, as well, would run for president. The fact that his brothers before him had both taken bullets to the head did not cause fear in the heart of the man who would one day be called “The Lion of the Senate.”

By this time, his womanizing, pill-popping, spirit-guzzling, luggage-sized head was far too bloated to see that even he could not achieve this goal. He dropped out of the presidential race on August 12th, 1980, delivering what was probably the only decipherable speech he ever gave.


Ronald Reagan and Ted Kennedy pretending they didn't hate each other.

For the next three decades, Kennedy sat in chair, muttering incoherencies and loudly judging others as he began to slowly take on the red glow of a ripe tomato. Signing countless bills that protect the lazy, the drug-addicted, and the filthy leeches of society who pump out babies like a Madagascar Tenrec, Kennedy bumbled and drank his way into the late-2000s, publicly backing whatever bleeding-heart-in-a-suit needed his confusing, yet undebatable, level of political power.

Just before his death, Kennedy reached out to Governor Deval Patrick in an attempt to appoint an interim successor in the event of United States Senate vacancies, pending a special election. This was the very same law that had been changed back in 2004 to prevent then-Governor Mitt Romney, a handsome Republican, from appointing a temporary replacement for Senator John Kerry, a repulsive looking Democrat, in the unlikely event that he would defeat Bush for the presidency.

But now Teddy’s dead, and all of this will eventually be rendered meaningless and mundane, because politics-as-usual will go on, and nothing will change.

The tumor that had been swelling inside of Kennedy’s head has finally won, and now it’s time for a new blundering, unqualified idiot to take his place.

“I was wrong,” claimed Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger, Kennedy’s nephew-in-law and political adversary. “It was a tumor!”

So, here’s to you, Teddy. You fucked lots of girls, you got drunk all the time, and you even killed a bitch and got away with it. You truly lived the American dream. You took a shitload of my hard-earned money and handed it to some of the laziest, most undeserving people in the state, and you did it all without even giving a fuck what I thought. But nobody’s supposed to talk about that stuff in this state, right? It’s sort of how nobody talks about how your bootlegging father, scumbag that he was, authorized a lobotomy to be performed on your own sister, because of her “mood swings that the family found difficult to handle at home.” Or how nobody around me is ripping you apart for attempting to circumvent the laws that you were supposed to uphold, actually thinking that you could just appoint a successor to your less-than-perfect throne. I’ve heard of those methods before. I think I saw it on an episode of HBO’s Rome. But you’re no Julius Caesar, and that little State Representative son of yours, who’s most likely responsible for about fifty percent of the scrapes and scratches on Providence’s guard rails, is certainly no Augustus.

You just had a little too much tumor, and way too much ego, for that head to contain, didn't you? No wonder your head was so huge.


Ted Kennedy on C-SPAN, being extra careful after the Chappaquiddick incident.

But, either way, now you’re gone. And it's not like I can say you didn’t leave your mark. You left a lot of marks, trust me. Especially underwater. For your sake, I hope Mary Jo Kopechne wasn’t working the door last night in Heaven, because, if she was, you probably got sent downstairs. As long as they serve liquor in there, though, right? I hope you brought shorts.

All in all, it doesn’t really matter that much, because life goes on. It just won’t go on for you. See you in Hell, fat boy. I’ll be the kid in the Misfits shirt. Maybe we’ll do lunch.