Saturday, December 29, 2018

LOVE FOR MY FELLOW MAN

Here is how it works: If I actually wish to discuss something with you odious rightwing dunderheads in the lounge, I'll make time for that. But most of the time I'll just stick my head in to deliver a shitty comment about Republicans or an insulting remark about your intelligence or lack of morals, and then head back out front, so you don't have a chance to respond with one of your usual inane rejoinders. Yeah, unfair, but I've heard pretty much everything you pustules have say (y'all kinda stoopid), and I know you're all too unwilling to lift your pudgy arses out of those chairs.

That lounge protects you all from a harsh sneering world, and insulates you from the bitter reality that your president is a dishonest cowardly amoral adulterous draft-dodging gangster. Putin's bitch, basically.

And that's putting it far too kindly.


Silver spoonism is rampant among you people.


La Terreur gonna get you.


Tumbrels.




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