Monday, September 08, 2008

I am John McCunt and I Approve This Message

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? Because, goddamn it, I’d earned a hot piece of ass with boo-coo bucks, that’s why.


And believe me; until that cunt got all strung out on prescription dope and had that goddamn stroke, she was one hot piece of ass.


But she changed.


First, it was the drugs, then it was her bringing home that fat kid with the goddamn cleft palate from Banglafuckin’desh, of all places.


You think it’s easy trying to fuck a doped-up cunt while I gotta hear that goddamn hare-lip kid mouth-breathing in the next goddamn room?


You bet your ass it’s not easy.


So what if I used Cunty’s money and got to be a Senator?


Big fucking deal, it’s out of Arizona, which is one shit hole of a state to represent. If I gotta hear one more wrinkled up old prune of a retirement home cunt telling me how great the dry heat is in Arizona, I’ll rebreak my arms knocking the old cunt in the head.


And so what if I have 7 or 8 or 10 or however many goddamn houses to live in? Cindy and those goddamn kids all have keys to every goddamn house we own, and with Cindy having that goddamn private jet, I can’t even fuck the maid without having to worry about that fucking trollop walking in on us.


So here’s the deal.


I figure with the presidency, I can get the Secret Service to deal with the goddamn wife and kids barging in on me.


If I want to sit there in the Oval Office in my skivvies and jack off to scenes from “The Deer Hunter,” then goddamn it, it’s because I’ve earned it.


And goddamn it, if that goddamn retarded son of a bitch Bush and his cocksucking faggot father and his bull dyke of a wife got the keys to the White House, then I should get them, too.


Why?


Because I’m John McCunt and I earned ‘em, goddamn it.


--
About the Author: KarenZipdrive is a rabble rousing, liberal lesbian journalist from San Antonio, Texas. She's been blogging at her site Pulp Friction since November, 2001. She recently joined the blogging team at, "Kill This Character, Please."

Now that you've read Zgirl's magnificent yarn, you know what to do, cast your vote in comments. You have one week to vote for I Am John McCunt And I Approve This Message. I expect to see oodles of votes, dahlinks.

 

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