Another thing: I couldn't give two shits about The Bible, The Koran, Harold and the Purple Crayon, or any other books you brain-dead morons read that promise some grand reward after a hopeless lifetime of microwaving old soup and watching reruns of Judge Joe Brown all day. Pray in school, don't pray in school -- do you honestly think I care? Like I even send my kids out to intermingle with the misshapen lumps of genetic material you call "offspring." One of your little hellspawn bit my Katie on her first day of Kindergarten, and she ended up with what her pediatrician called "a lesser form of the bubonic plague." This was around the time I used your tax money to add an extra five vertical feet of fence to my property, and to buy a pallet of hand santizer for any time I had to go out and make physical contact with "the common man" during my campaign stops throughout this rat turd of a community.
Shocked? I'll go ahead and tell them to print the following lines in bold, guaranteeing that it'll be the only part you'll read (or have read to you, most likely):
I believe in America. I believe that this country was founded under the Christian principles of life, liberty, and the pursuit of property ownership. I believe that the government should keep its nose out of the affairs of private citizens, as long as those affairs are not gross and out in the open where our kids can see them. God bless America, and gooooo local sports teams!
You've got cancer? Cry me a tumor. Christ, my health insurance is fantastic, and I get to keep it even if I lose my job! Last Saturday little Don Jr. got a nasty mosquito bite, so we rushed him to the E.R. and were given priority over three stabbing victims and some lady whose baby was coming out backwards or something. You people really don't know what you're missing. But why would you ever want to prolong your terrible, terrible lives? Sure, we could all pay into a big fund that lets some poor doctor scrape the Taco Bell fryer residue from your lungs (not a job I would envy), but it would only mean yet more years spent in an aimless funk, with neither the mental nor physical strength to kill yourself. You just let old Don Trunbert soak up all that insurance; I have three new cars that I haven't even driven yet!
So when you're ferried to the polls by some idiot bus driver lacking a middle school education, in between swigs of Rebel Yell make sure your finger jams the button next to my name.
Because states' rights, no amnesty for immigrants, taxed enough already, take our country back, and America, America, America. Now fuck off, you joyless rubes.
This message has been brought to you by the 2010 Committee to Re-elect Don Trunbert.
Sir Mix-a-Lot's classic follow up to "Baby Got Back" has serious unintended consequences.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
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