All right, enough is fucking enough

I've held back. You have to admit, I've been quiet these last couple of months. I've let things run their course. Old Hilldaberry crashing into Bamorama crashing into the Old Man of the Sea. I just sit back and let them fucking go at it. That idiot fucking Austrian fucking his daughter in the basement for seventy five years, whatever. Who the fuck cares? Cyclones, tornadoes, Chinee earthquakes, yadda yadda yadda. Fifty thousand dead here, fifty thousand dead there, small fucking potatoes. But throughout all this, Myself has been quiet. Reserved. Rarely emerging from my undisclosed location (which is actually my ranch in Wyoming. Duh.) Also quiet, you might note, has been the Asshole on a Stick, Mr. PeaBrain, our useless, drooling, fall off his bicycle, chock on a pretzel, "president". Until yesterday. And now I must speak. Because who the fuck does FuckFace bring up but Neville Fucking Chamberlain. Has his brain finally hit the fan? Has Dub Ya finally popped his cork and left the rest of us behind? Neville Chamberlain? Hello? Who the fuck is Neville fucking Chamberlain? He did what? World War what? LIke Bush has a single fucking clue what he's talking about. Does he even know where he is? I thought I could coast on through to the end. Easy peasey. Lame duck. Play a little golf. Shoot a couple of lawyers. You know, kick back. But no. I've got to get back in the saddle and ride to the rescue before PencilDick gets us further down the shithole. This is the first day of the rest of your short useless life, motherfucker. Ole Deadeye is back in town.