OK, goddammit I'm back. Thank you, General, for allowing me to use your electrical typing intertubes pamphlet machine yet once again. But I have to tell you it's goddamned tough being a goddamned loser. Goddamned Lieberman won't even type for me anymore. I have to use this goddamned Joe the Plumber bastard now.
Yes, Joe, you have to write that you son of a bitch. You have to write every word I say, goddammit. I created you, and I'm the only game in town since you quit the Republican party--speaking fees dried up real fast then didn't they, you stupid fucker.
Goddammit, yes. Write that. Write. every word I say.
OK, I've been following this whole Iran thing on the Twitter. My daughter Meghan told me about it. She twittered this to me: "Jesus H fucking Christ, dad, are you watching these fucking Iran tweets."
So I looked, and it was all these pre-bombed fucking Iranistanians complaining about the election, and I saw that and I thought, "Jesus H. Cornhole Christ, this will give me some fucking camera time." So I started telling all the press that Obama should do something--I didn't say what, because Meagan said, "Don't fucking say 'bomb the fuckers, Dad,' even though that's what I want to do.
And it's been God damned hard because I'll be doing a TV interview saying Obama should do something, and my closest friend from my days in Hanoi, Sheila, a flattened, dessicated rat I keep in my wallet, will start screaming at me, "John, you cowardly fuck, tell them you want to rip out some fucking Iranian hearts and eat them while they're still beating!"
What the fuck, Plumberboy? You think you know shit about politics? You think you know better than me and Sheila what I should be saying?