I'M IN TOUCH WITH MY INNER MEANIE

Yesterday everybody's favourite cretinous bootlicker Rudy Giulinani held a press conference in a parking lot between a dildo store and a crematorium. Which is an apt metaphor for him and his master's life right now, except that only Jared and Stephen Miller will visit him in prison. And maybe Steve Bannon who is desperate for a new lawyer with less principles than his old one.
That, too, is a metaphor.

Anyone who thought that American rightwing politics couldn't get any more seedy than a vicious snapping turtle and a weepy poodle in the senate falling over themselves to obey their bloated Adderall addicted master's every yap wasn't paying attention.

Boys, we are the country that invented crazy as a political platform. We've got Louie "chumbucket brains" Gomert as the living fossil proving that.
Plus evangelicals.


And if you're expecting me to be a gentleman and speak kind words about the other side, you will be disappointed, because I've had to put up with Trumpians at work for over four years.
My turn now, I'm going to be a bitch.
Metaphorically.



Good thing I no longer associate with the East Bay crowd; I'd gleefully tell Bob, Masha, Robin, and Jack (I think it's Jack) to shove it. With helpful diagrams.
Plus the "insect". The "herb" already died.
Also physically.


Please buy a plot, y'all, I need somewhere to dance.


It's a metaphor. Honest.



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