The Candidate.
04 Oct 2011 Leave a Comment
in Nightmares, Razor sharp satire Tags: 2012, America, Democrat, election, Election2012, Governor Rick Perry, Michele Bachmann, Mitt Romney, Newt Gingrich, Nixon, Obama, Palin, Politician, President, Primaries, racist, Republican, Rick Santorum
Hello folks and world, hello folks and world! It’s me, the famous wanker Buck Buckchrister!
I have come in front of you to give displeasure and dispepsia to all my adoring fanatics by jaxing in their ears and solidifying the contents of their stomacharchés through psionic ejaculation (retroactively a’course; enough pressure to mash any safety valve into tiny cartilige triangles). But I diverticulitis. The main ambush of ziss ting iss to give a certain kind of ‘spenx’ to all future dessert spoon wannabes, Watanabes and waterbaybays. I would like to anonce my candidarsey for the prescription of Impediment of thee Benighted States. I feel that my special and dare I insist, unique brew of abilities which include hyper-contradictory perceptional powers, invisibility while holding in a shit, advanced knowledge of childhood sexuality, psychopathy, male pattern baldness, bald-faced lying accompanied by an erection, and lust for bloodshed (I’m going to kill again, so why not put that talent to the use of our proud nasty?), will be an unhealthy boon for our patriotic collection of anti-thought fuckheads.
I’ve seen what the other candidates have to offer and it ain’t worth a god damned fucking piece of my pooh-pooh. They don’t have the bollocks either in their pants or heads required to take the tough decision to kill thousands of innocent children for the good of whatever the fuck it is. But you can TRUST me, I HONESTLY don’t give a shit. I wouldn’t flinch at the prospect of having to shoot my own family if it meant we could have lower taxes or higher taxes, or more oil, or bigger condoms, or less ethnicals running around spouting their fucking voodoo shit. And if I may be so bold as to not lie to you for a second, I would desperately love to kill my children, they’ve been nothing but a drag on my sexy lifestyle which I used to be able to engorge every day back in the 80s when I ran my own law practice in Balabummer Tenderanus. I’d offer my clients a 5% disco on my corrupt legal fees if I could watch them take a shit into a waste paper basket on my desk while I took photos and worked my sin to death in my right hand (of the Lord). But now the kids are always having to be taken home from school ‘cause of their chronic mental problems the councillors say are brought on by an ‘evil home environment’. Well, fuck’em, I say! Are you with me Damnerica?! Give me a FUCK YEAH!!! BSD! BSD!
[The crowd gets to their feet and chant in unison as Buckchrister pulls down his pants, holds up his shirt, and waggles his flaccid penis around while making a high pitched screeching ‘Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech! Eeeeeeeeeeeeech!’ sound.]
Written while under the influence of banality.
