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...
I am heartbroken... I did not make lisa whelchel's favorite blogs list. fuck. fuck. mother fuck. that fucking sucks. gaaahd. what the fuck do I have to do to get in this bitch's good graces. for the love of jesus mary and josephina.
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Hey, she'd have to explain to the E-van-jerk-als why she links to a "heathen's" blog and that they would then, burn her for being a heretic. You know and I know that she comes here five times a day for her Katie fix.
I steered way clear of the maylay because "Hearts at Home" means "This the only 2 hours my husband will let me out the house by myself". The place surely reeked of righteous indignation and spontaneous prayer vigils.
Had I known she would have been there, I would have hitched up the stroller and headed out for a photo op.
For you.
Because you're cool like 'dat.