Friday, December 24, 2010

Trigonometry #5: Rescue Me!

Yeah, she penned an op ed piece on Iran like I farted Mozart's Requiem. Let's examine this, shall we?

"Iran continues to defy the international community in its drive to acquire nuclear weapons."

Dogshit. She spells acquire with a "k." 

"Arab leaders in the region rightly fear a nuclear-armed Iran." 

Nuclear-armed? She wouldn't know a compound adjective if it kicked her in the twat. 

"We suspected this before, but now we know for sure because of leaked diplomatic cables." 

We? We who? We nuclear inspectors? We failed Veep candidates? We who bailed out on our office to cash in on our transitory and undeserved fame? We reality show whores? We Fox News contributors? We shrieking psycho bitches? 

"King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia "frequently exhorted the U.S. to attack Iran to put an end to its nuclear weapons program," according to these communications. Officials from Jordan said the Iranian nuclear program should be stopped by any means necessary. Officials from the United Arab Emirates and Egypt saw Iran as evil, an "existential threat" and a sponsor of terrorism. If Iran isn't stopped from obtaining nuclear weapons, it could trigger a regional nuclear arms race in which these countries would seek their own nuclear weapons to protect themselves."

She doesn't know where Saudi Arabia is. She thinks Jordan is the guy who played for the Bulls. She couldn't pick King Abdullah out of a lineup if he were paired with the Burger King and King Kong.  She doesn't write this shit. She's got some starry eyed, amoral staff cooz with a night school degree in creative writing who scribbles it for her. Give her a pen she'd try to stab a woodland creature with it.  I blame the fucking media. They report "Sarah Palin wrote," or "Sarah Palin tweeted" just 'cause they see her name on it. At some point, aren't you assholes supposed to ask questions? 

Trust me -- She doesn't write. She doesn't read. She doesn't tweet. She doesn't think. She just eats. She's a wolf. Like one of those wilderness creatures she so gleefully slaughters from a safe distance she shoots out insults while prowling the public highways for cash, free travel, and the glory she so perversely think she deserves. And it's my lot in life to be her stage prop 'cause she thinks it makes her come off like a proud, caring parent by constantly dragging around the retard. What's up with that? Who brings a kid onstage for a speech? She's got nannies up the wim-wam except when it's time for a photo op. Then it's "fetch me the 'tard." The woman's a cypher. She's a sham of a mockery of a sham. 

And I'm stuck.  She said I have to fucking hang there and flash the snaggle-tooth smile and cute retarded kid face or she won't feed me. Trust me -- If there's a smile upon my face, it's only there to fool the public. Mofo needs to eat. Shit. 

Somebody rescue me. Cut me loose from this bitch and hide me. Anywhere. A group home. Witness protection. Stuff me inside Mariah Carey and say she's having triplets. I don't care. I am not a prop! I am somebody! I deserve a life! In my dreams a stiff wind comes along, catches my elephant ears and flies me off to a magic land where I look like George Clooney and where tits are for fun and not food. 

Won't you make my dreams come true? Help! I'm dying here! 

Peace out.

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