Andrew Breitbart's Terrible and Powdered Nose of War

Andrew Breitbart
Founder
Things with Big In Front of Them

Dear Mr Breitbart,

Like you, "they call me [the] Gay;" and, like you, they call me a drunken, cocaine-addled, wanger-obsessed, lying publicity whore--OK they only say the drinking and cocaine stuff about you, but my reaction is the same. I want to shoot the bastards. I mean, by God, you're right: murdering someone who calls you a homosexualist is justifiable homicide.

Yeah, that'd teach them homosexualist-accusing sumbishes. Ha. Ha. Ha. Yeah:

Hey, are you talking to me? Yeah you. Are you talking to me? Are you calling me a friend of Dorothy's?" Boom. Boom Boom. Ha. Ha. Yeah.

And the same for all their friends too. As you said:

They cannot win. We outnumber them in this country, and we have the guns. I'm not kidding.

Yes, we have the guns. We can annihilate all the mockers. And we can do it in the colorful, folksy, and milspeakish kind of way that excites our base so much:

You there. Hold still for a spell, you elitist, book-learned sumbish, so I can Kilo India Lima Lima your Alfa Sierra Sierra with this here large caliber, long barreled firearm that has nothing to do with not-men laughing at the size of my little soldier.

Oh man, yeah, ohhhh, I love talkin' like that. Yeah, ohhhh, yeah, I gotta go.

Heterosexually yours,

Gen. JC Christian, patriot