Political fanfic scrivener PrickDick Morris has a new home, at the National Enquirer, which is owned by the equally aptly named Drumpf butt-buddy David Pecker. Yes, it's just too bad Morris and Pecker don't get married, at which point Morris could be Dick Pecker.
Morris is one of those lowlife scumbags for whom the terms factotum or dogsbody or toady or fuckface doesn't quite capture it. He doesn't have an eye for the real grift, the way fellow shitbird Karl Rove does. Morris' primary skill is ball-licking, giving verbal rimjobs to the highest bidder.
It seems only fitting that Morris now shovels shit for a manure factory, but it's equally fitting that, since he first came to prominence as hatchet man for the Clintons, they now have to deal with him. Karma doesn't exist, but every once in a while you have to wonder.
Morris is one of those lowlife scumbags for whom the terms factotum or dogsbody or toady or fuckface doesn't quite capture it. He doesn't have an eye for the real grift, the way fellow shitbird Karl Rove does. Morris' primary skill is ball-licking, giving verbal rimjobs to the highest bidder.
It seems only fitting that Morris now shovels shit for a manure factory, but it's equally fitting that, since he first came to prominence as hatchet man for the Clintons, they now have to deal with him. Karma doesn't exist, but every once in a while you have to wonder.
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