…I swear, I’m going to run naked into the streets, sobbing uncontrollably, screaming incoherently at the top of my lungs, while yanking large clumps of hair from my head one handful at a time, stopping only long enough to frighten any small children and animals I might come across, as I try to explain to them the approaching danger of an Obama presidency, knowing only the innocent offer any hope of salvation and redemption at this point.
I’m not kidding.
I can’t take it any more.
The man’s voice grates on my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. Or Styrofoam packing popcorn in the hands of an obnoxiously mischievous child. Or that “here comes the guy with the axe” music in horror movies. I’m serious, I think he’s giving me a rash. Or maybe those huge, festering welts appearing all over my skin are a result of my compulsive flesh-rending whenever one of his pontificating ads come on, which is all the damned time! It’s gotten so I can tell when they’re coming before they even start, just by the spooky change in the atmosphere surrounding the television set.
It’s bad enough I had to watch this…guy thug his way through the primaries and caucuses, cheating his way to the nomination with the help of Dr. Deanenstein and his demon bride, Nasty Pelosi, along with their Our Gang spawn, Harry, Donna, Larry, Moe, Curly, Manny and Jack and all the other AWOL-from-hell minions working with them to defeat the far more qualified Hillary Clinton. And before the Obamaniacs start up with the whiny, “He’s just as qualified as Lincoln (Kennedy, Clinton…pick one, they do)” happy crappy; shut the hell up. I don’t care if he graduated from the Universal Space Academy on Mars with a Phi Beta Yabba Dabba Doo, he’s not as qualified as Hillary Clinton for the simple reason that she’s a gazillion times more talented. She can form complete sentences without a TelePrompTer or having Axelrod’s hand up her butt. I swear, sometimes when I hear him say the say exact thing, the same exact way, with the same exact mannerisms and expressions, over, and over, and over again, I’m sure he must be lip-syncing to track. Either that, or he’s a hologram from Lucas Arts or Disney since Warner Brothers doesn’t make Looney Tunes any more.
I know I’m losing it, but it’s been almost 2 years of the Chinese water torture of this guy being crammed further, and further, and further down my throat, little by little, inch by inch…slowly, I turned, step by…wait a minute!
(Shaking head, breathing deep, counting to…infinity – and beyond!)
I’m okay, now.
Really.
Even though it would probably take counting to infinity to really get my blood pressure down. Either that, or just make him go away. Send him back to the Senate, make them listen to him stutter and stammer as he drones on and on about everything and nothing. Better yet, send him back to the classroom, let the students sleep through his lectures on their parent’s dime. They like him, and pretty much the only difference between that scenario and what’s happening now is…now they’re sleepwalking and don’t even know it. And there are a lot of them. But, they’re young, they just like being together outside.
Help me.
I really am not looking forward to all the screaming and running I see in my future. Sure, I could use the exercise, but at my age, I just don’t look that good naked anymore. And unlike a certain someone who shall not be named, I know my limitations.
PUMA
Just Say No Deal
“Sure, I could use the exercise, but at my age, I just don’t look that good naked anymore.”
Best. Line. Ever!!!
Mind you, without a pic, we can’t really judge this comment now, can we…
Thank you, EA, Sister.
I’m blushing.
Posts like this are the reason you have become one of my favorite blogs since I discovered you a few weeks back. A special tip of my cap for “Phi Beta Yabba Dabba Doo.”
I’ve gotten very quick on the volume control on my car radio and the mute button on my TV remote. I also have the escape of watching Canadian TV. His campaign damn well better stay away from my hockey games. Only tire, pizza and Canadian beer commercials allowed.
Ahh, my daily dose of Cinie. Deep breaths, slow, deep breaths.