The Bitch is Back

There's not much point in telling you how fucking devious this cunt is. Would you believe that she killed her fucking boyfriend when she was seventeen and got away with it? I'm not making this shit up. She smashed her car into another car and he just happened to be driving it. Coincidence? I think not. She wanted that fuckwit dead and she got it. So while Junior Shitbag might be a drooling fucking moron, think twice before you tangle with the christless witch from Crawdaddy. She's the only one of all of us who's actually killed somebody. Of course, she's so fucking ugly, she could probably kill you by just making you look at her ugly ugly face. I hate that cunt. Librarian? Sweet? Think again, Shit for Brains. This cow will eat you for breakfast.

The only fucking thing that can save us

Remember 9-11? Think you're safe? Think nuclear, chump. You are in for it. This administration is in such deep shit, with war trials facing all of us, and things falling apart faster than you wrap a suicide bomb around your waist, that there is nothing that can save the three of us now except another fantastic terror attack on the US. I don't know what's taking them so long, in fact. Are they fucking stupid? Like it's hard to enter the country with a few bombs? Hello, have you heard of the Canadian border? Have you heard about container ships? We got idiots standing around in their stocking feet at airports all over the world and you think that's doing something? Shit for brains. We stirred up the ragheads to the point where there's nothing they can do but attack us over here. So where are they? We're waiting. We NEED another attack. Bring 'em on. Another attack and the stupid public rallies around their drooling old Moron of a president, and out the window go whatever is left of the Constitution. Come on, you guys. Get with the program. I want an attack and I want it NOW.

Happy fucking Easter

You have no idea what it's like, working with a putz like this. He actually thought it would be a good idea if Rummy dressed up like the Easter Bunny, and Mrs. Moron agreed with him and they made poor sweet Donald put on this stupid fucking rabbit costume. I was fucking furious when I found out but by then the damage had been done. Junior thought it would make Rummy more accessible and popular. As fucking if. Just look at this. Christ. It's enough to make you puke out your easter eggs.

Catching a little slant-nap

Look, I work hard, twenty four seven. You don't see me running off every fucking weekend to Crawfish to ride my christless bicycle, do you? You think it's easy, running this fucking country, cleaning up after Junior Fuckwit? I'm working my ass off here. And if the fucking commies can't take a little joke, then fuck 'em. So we let a little protester into the press area. So fucking what? It was just a little chinee slit. How much trouble was she, really? And so we refer to the country by the name of their sworn enemy. What's the difference? They all look the same, anyway. Righten up, old serious face. And then you get mad because I doze off while you're droning on in that yingyang language of yours. So fucking boring, I don't know how you stayed awake while you were talking. Anyway, you want to talk to Bill Gates first, this is what you get, You or Hu or however you fucking spell it.

Porky's pissed off

Karl was peeved, to say the fucking least, when we told him he had to pretend to give up some power. He stamped his fat feet and jumped up and down and then landed on his ass in front of Air Force One. He's a pouter, that one. I don't know what the fuck he's all upset about. Somebody's got to take the fall--and it sure as fuck ain't gonna be me. And Junior Genius can't do it. He doesn't even know what we're talking about, most of the time. And it's not like Karl is actually going anywhere. He's still in the White House, right next door to me, and we can still run the country, just like always. Get a grip, Pudgeboy. And get out of the way of the fucking plane.

"I am the decider."

The "decider"? The decider? What kindergarden babytalk language does this man speak? Is he a complete fucking moron? I am the decider? A total drooling braindead asswipe. How can anyone take this idiot seriously? Look at that fucking face. Is that the face of a decider? Is that even the face of a human being? He looks like a dickbrained monkey. Which is what he fucking is. Get him out of here. Even I think he should be impeached.

Two old warhorses, heading out to pasture

So here's the Donald displaying his customary refined horsesense by trying to steal this horse while everyone is looking at him. Who the hell does he think he is, anyway? Vice President? As fucking if. And you can tell that wimpoid Army guy is about to go make a call to the Times complaining about his arrogant uppitty ways. But no matter what Tiny-Dicked Donald does, that horse ain't gonna fucking drink the water. Just like the goddamn military--it is not going to do what he wants. They are just going to keep biting him in the ass until he jumps on that fucking horse and gets the hell out of Dodge. The sooner the better, I might add. I think the time has come for old Rumster to hit the horsepath. Or we might be looking at a glue factory situation.

Donny and Dolly, together again for the first time

I know the Donster is fighting for his military life, but you just gotta love a guy who pays no attention to the political fallout and just gets down there with the incendiary Doll Parton. They're made from the same mold, these two legends, don't ya think? Fuck, look at their scrawny turkey neck hands. And her face is permanently in that grimace of false hello. And she's eyeing the microphone, like she can't wait for him to shut up so she can grab it back. And Big Don is just having the time of his life, shooting the shit with the white people at Grand Ole Dollyland, no whining retired generals stabbing him in the back, no raghead bombs going off in his head. Nosirree, this boy's one happy baby-dicked soon to be former Secretary of Defence. Dolly could probably do the job better.

You gotta love fucking Rummy

I do. I mean, I did. When we were young. We were lovers for, what, ten years? More or less. Look at him. Who could resist him? That square fucking jaw. Those weird faggy St Laurent glasses. Those lips. That amazingly straight nnearly pathological part in his hair. The guy was fucking gorgeous. And the tiniest teeniest sweetest little cock you've ever seen. My nickname for it was "thimble". Oh, how we laughed. What a sense of humor. Those were the best days of my life, I think. We'd work all day at the Oval office with the old Ford roadster, Genius Gerry, we called him, and then we go home and fuck all night. That guy could kiss, let me tell ya. It makes me a little sad to hear all these fuckwit retired generals screaming for his head. But it might just be time for Thimble to call it a day. Time for a little falling on your sword action. It sure as fuck isn't going to be me taking the fall for Iraq.

Mine, all mine!

I can see the future and it's me. I am the future. I own the world. I am invincible. There is nothing you can do to me. You are filth, debased human excrement. I am Halliburton the Magnificent. HA! I say to you, Little Fitzgerald wormling. You cannot touch me. I will fry your eyes. I will stuff your arms up your asshole. I will slice away pieces of your skin and feed you bit by bit to leprous feral dogs. I am the Godhead. The world has never seen such as I, nor will again. Fuck passover. This is the real deal.

The last fucking mile

Lynne and I are walking old "W" out to the river where I'm going to beat him to death with a shovel. He's too stupid to keep alive. That fucking dog can hardly find the ground when he needs to take a shit. It's not that he's so old--he's just too fucking stupid to live. Lynne isn't such a brainiac herself, since the lobotomy, but at least she's upright, some of the time.
But "W", christ, that dog can't hunt. All he does is chase bicycles and lick his nuts. I hate to admit it but I'm going to enjoy bashing his empty brain in. Stupid slobbering drooling piece of shit. I hate that dog.

Fuck being a team player

All right, all right, maybe baseball isn't my game. Who needs fucking baseball? You want to see me throw a grenade? At your fucking face? I don't know what the fuck I'm doing out here on the field anyway. Trying to improve my image? As fucking if. Do I look a little bulky? It's the three bulletproof vests they're making me wear. I look like a fucking panda. As soon as that ball lands somewhere, I'm off to a fucking undisclosed location. Fuck you.