What a Cocksucker

What a CocksuckerSo this cocksucker is really starting to piss me off.

Last week he turned up at my house and offered to wash my Humvee for me.

And then this morning he was waiting outside the gate when I walked down to pick up the morning paper (memo to self: construct sniper tower at the gate) wearing a stupid pair of bermuda shorts telling me something about a brand new lawn mower he’d just bought (memo to self: employ sniper) and how much he’d like to test it out by cutting my grass for me before heading home. Bill, half of the Mexicans in my State cut my grass!

And last year at the Republican Party party, he got really wasted and couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “You know Arnie, you have a really nice house.” I know dickhead, I live there! “You know Arnie, your wife is smokin’.” I know bozo, she slaps me in the face every time I try to touch her boobies. “You know Arnie, your muscles are so…” At this point I wanted to do what I did to Bill Paxton in my super-smash-hit box office movie True Lies when he was talking too much, and smash that cocksucker Bill O’Reilly in the face.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love his show. Maria and me are big fans. We love how he only interview spineless weaklings and girlie-men and then verbally beats on them until they break when they realise how futile their cowardly existense is! Hahaha! I love it when they break. I like to rewind and then play that part over and over again. What a show! It always reminds me of my super-smash hit apocalypse movie End of Days when I say to the Devil: “YOU ARE A CHOIR BOY™!!!”

But seriously Bill, you don’t understand your relationship with me and my buddies in the New World Order. You work for us; you’re not part of us. You’re our little messenger boy. A glorified PR agent. A scrappy puppy who likes to bark a lot. We tell you what to say and you shut up and say it, because me and my buddies in the Republican Party pay your salary.

You’re doing a spectacular job for us on the frontiers of propaganda warfare, and I respect you for it, but we are not your friends. You can’t just come over to my house whenever you feel like it and suggest that we ‘have a beer’ or ‘watch the game.’ That’s not how we roll.

And you’re not getting any kind of special treatment in 2012 when I’m elected President of the Universe (I’m not joking). Your fate is gonna be the same as the rest of the worthless rabble.

And Bill, for the millionth time, I don’t need you to light my stogie for me.


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