Why do I want to be your president? Because goddamn it, I've earned it. Hell, I was an admiral's son, I didn't have to go to goddamn Vietnam, get shot down and deal with all those goddamn sadistic gook prison guards. No, I went because my prick of a father and his asshole of a father were goddamn admirals, for Christ's sake, and I had no choice but to pay off the poker bet I made with them and join the goddamn Navy. And after five years of eating goddamn rats and getting poked up the ass with hot bamboo sticks, then I gotta return to the states to a limping gimp of a wife who got herself fucked up in a car accident and got all fat on me? The cunt ended up with an ass on her the width of a Volkswagen, and after all I'd been through at the Hanoi Hilton, I was expected to come home and fuck that fat cunt? Hell, no! Then I met Cindy, who was hotter'n a two dollar pistol and her dad owned a beer factory. Why did I dump my fat ass first wife and get with Cindy? Bec...
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its okay, /she/ may or may not read your blog as well.
mars, you could never be ruled out of anything.
Is the latke chipotle salsa topped or the latke eater?
And what about a kasha knish? I don't think you can put salsa on that nor applesauce.
I guess this really wasn't the point of the post was it? I just figure if I'm uphappy I should have a knish or something.