Too bad these kool-aid-addled losers aren't nearby, so I could wipe my ass with their "flag" and fix the misspellings on their third-grade signs by pissing in the proper letters.
Maybe it is a bit personal after all, because I despise people who can't explain themselves, yet insist on imposing their blather on everyone else. Fuck you, Gomer, and fuck your traitor flag and fuck your stupid-ass signs. I assume that any and all social programs instituted by the incoming "socialest" regime will not be used by the likes of y'all 'n' your'n. In fact, we expect nothin' less from fine upstandin' hypocrite moralizers such as yerself.
I see folks like these time and again. They got all the requisite confederate librul-hunter bumper stickers festooning their hoopties, and the handicap placard to park in the special space that the bleedin'-heart socialests reserved for them, 'cause their adult onset diabetes has them up to 400 fuckin' pounds and ten feet gets 'em wheezin'. Seen that shit with my own two eyes before. Talk about unclear on the concept. I felt like luring that particular rebel blob around a sweltering parking lot with a pork chop on a string until he keeled over, sweating gravy and sounding like a broken accordion, having to feel around to see if his shrunken dick was still attached. Southern by the grace of Gawwwd, body by Mallomar.
Someone should suggest to these dipshits on the pie porch (as well as their favored candidates) that telling everybody yer a "mavrick" is kinda like calling your band The Lone Rangers.
No comments:
Post a Comment