TRAPPED IN NEWT GRINCH'S FARTY HEARSE, SEND WEED
What's up girls good to see you on the blogger rss thing whatever. Reporting from in the field on the republican election thing I am Levi Johnston political corresponder for this Gay Ass Website.
I had the dream again last night. Michelle Bachmann and her 40 fucked up foster kids pull up in a van outside a daycare center, but when they go inside it's all side of horrible meat and you can't tell if it's like a fucked up moose or a person or what hanging from all the meat hooks and then it skips to later and I'm on my back and she's on top of me staring intensely into my eyes saying in a snakey voice "YESSS MEAT MOMMY WANTS IT" and then I usually wake up and I've sleep eaten my way through the mini bar again.
Holy fuck dudes I have put on so much weight since taking this gig following these dipshits around. Between the minibars and the troughs of bacon and pizzas they put out at every debate I am going to have to go on some crazy kettlebells shit to get my ripply abs back to playgirl shape.
Speaking of Playgirl, Meat Mommy's husband Marcus wanted to take me to a Bob Jones University basketball game maybe check out the showers afterwards and snap some towels but I said hell Bob Jones sucks that team couldn't make a lay up if JC himself were there why would I want to see them get dunked on like the Washington Generals by the team from South Carolina Online Vocational School with the player in a wheel chair.
When that didn't work on me he tried to give me a book of baseball cards to get into a closet with him but I said I draw the line at 1995 because the bottom fell out on the market and he miscontrued what I said and chased me giggling through the backstage area at Iowa Evangelical Television Institute where I think the candidates are supposed to debate scripture asking questions like, "Should it be punishable by death for a child to tell their parents to shut up?" and "How many slaves may an Israelite keep?" Later somebody told me it was called grooming and I was like bitch I groom everyday what the fuck do I look like some Kyle Orton motherfucker get out of my face with your cigarette breath Candy Crowley. You look like Sweetums from the muppets.
Meanwhile, in developments. What the fuck I can't keep a finger on this pulse thing. No rest for the lactonic. I turn on the TV and my main dog Herman Cain is dropping out over some frog head girl said she has texts and that they've been carrying on for 20 years or wahtever. I dialed my buddy Cocain and was like Herms what's cracking how did you crush on that freaky faced mess for longer than I've been alive I wouldn't touch that thing with Todd Palin's dick and you can bodogg it that's nastier than the crusty rim of a double dare bean pool in Mark Summers shed.
Cain just said nine nine nine and hung up on me and I was like WTF is this the herman cain arg are you gas lighting me dude. The last thing he told me before he dropped out was that 9-9-9 was an inside joke and it was this secret formula he came up with where you start with nine, take your age and divide it by nine and then add nine and that's supposed to be the age of who you are with. It kept working out to 11 for me which is fucked up so I just kept quiet.
With the cain train derailed and burning up chlorine gas in a school zone and frigging Perry drunk and high and gay at all times it is pretty much down to Mitch Ronalds who I hate and this bitch Newt Grinch who looks like a big fat lesbian phil donahue. He seems really smart but he smells like pepperoni all the time and constantly talks about alternate history scenarios. Bitch if I wanted to know what would have happened if the Chinese discovered America I would have asked.
I have to follow him around and get stared at like a baby mouse being looked at by a scorpion by his wife Callistus. I'm just waiting for her to spray me with some perfume and I start melting and then she can siphon me up through her hidden feeding nozzle thing while her husband tells me about what if the Apache discovered submarines. Worse, because not enough of you fuckers bought my book my publisher is no longer paying for me to ride around in a hummer limousine and stay at four seasons everywhere. That means I have to ride with the candidates.
Oh, Mitch romney, he has his sleepy time nap bus but newt gingrich is driving around in a hearse. it's not even a converted hearse it still has the creepy drapes on the windows and everything.
It's terrible man this lack of support from my publisher is killing me. They zeroed out my weed budget. My craigslists escorts per dayum is down to like 20 dollars which I am lucky at this point if I can even get a bearded nicaraguan lady to jerk me off onto a paper plate while she calls me "Leebee Jean." It's depressing.
Yesterday we got stuck in traffic in Iowa and Newt was practicing a speech and farting. Callistus laughed really weird every time a fart came out and stared at me real intense and Newt's talking about how what if Churchill had been Hitler or something and I straight up had a panic attack. I thought my heart stopped and that I was dead and this was a death nightmare taking me to hell but then I guess they cleared the wreck off the highway and we kept going.
Only my shirt smelled like farts for the next week. so was it a dream? Could Newt Grinch really be our next president?
Anything is possible in this fucking stupid gay country.
SIGNING OFF FUCKERS