Anyone could tell you that I am a calm and peaceful man; I am love. But enough is enough. Mother Teresa would shoot this guy.
No one seems to be interested, though, and he hums along on his merry way, raising hell. What’s the matter America? Lose your guts all of a sudden? Is your powder loathe to burn? Knives loathe to cut? Run out of poison?
A certain man is “running for President” again. The quotes represent the inherent foolishness of calling it a run for the Presidency. It’s really the same old self aggrandizing mischief, it’s happened twice before. It, he, cursed us with eight years of unremitting chaos, international embarrassment, and death (buried; blown up; and otherwise). The blood of everyone killed in Iraq is on his hands. He has as much chance of winning as does Professor Irwin Cory, the “World’s Leading Authority,” and the Professor is dead.
Even bad words fail me, I believe that this is the first time. To do justice to this man it would take all of my forbidden vocabulary, plus the soaring obscene hyperbole of the French, the wonderfully degrading religious metaphors of the Italians, and the personal, hate-drenched viciousness of the Spaniards.
For good Mr. Obama, may he live forever, I hope that he wins, people have already worked out firing positions, distance and windage. But no one seems to care about this seventy-four year old certain man. Again, people will support him and people will vote for him, people who in their willful, active rejection of reality make Don Quixote look like a Certified Public Accountant.
The vomitous horror that is this creature is about to paste on that stupid, crooked grin and begin again to throw monkey-wrenches over his shoulder like bridal bouquets, never giving a thought to whom or what he may hit, what old lady he might kill, what important machine he might stop. No, he does not care, not our pretentious, world-saving friend, lights! camera! make up! I’m baaaaaccck!
Bad things happen every day, and yet day after day nothing bad happens to this certain man. That nothing has happened to him as yet is proof of the failings of the human character. Who will take up the challenge?*
*of course, I only mean things like hitting him with a pie; publishing real or photo-shopped pictures of him committing unnatural acts with a purple assed baboon; flooding his every personal appearance with crowds who just stand and laugh loudly and hysterically; joining the [redacted] party and heckling everyone at the meetings loudly and obscenely; ordering anchovy and kimchee pizzas to be delivered to their campaign locations, if there are any; calling in to CNN pretending to be a tornado victim and then shouting “[redacted] sucks!” Machine calling every telephone number in America and playing a tape that says, “this is Anonymous; if you vote for [redacted] we will know. We know where you live; we know where your children go to school. We do not forgive. We do not forget. This is Anonymous.” All you meditators out there, maybe if a couple of thousand of you meditated at the same time you could get his heart to burst into flames. Whatever. Americans are creative people. I leave it to you.