DIE, DIE you Troglodytes, DIE.
There, I got that out of my system. Al Franken? AL FUCKING FRANKEN?
Failed funny man Al? Failed FM radio host Al? Failed radio fundraiser Al? Forty-nine fucking votes Franken! Are you people kidding me? Senator Franken…Senator Al Franken. One more time, all together…Senator Al Franken? Are you people wood?
Aren’t you the same developmentally disabled constituents that elected a “wrestler” as your Governor? Not a real wrestler, mind you, but an ‘I’m not a real wrestler but play one on TV’ wrestler. Have any of you mangy middle-earth compu‘tards seen your wrestler lately? If Mel Brooks had waited until now to film Young Frankenstein just think of the money he could have saved on make-up and special effects. He could have gotten Jesse to play the monster role for the price of two lousy neck-trodes! Poor Peter Boyle had to endure hours of miserable time in a make-up chair to look just like Jesse Ventura does now.
Wait a moment…that’s it! Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction; let’s use the brain of Gene Wilder to balance out Ventura’s abby normal brain. It’s perfect! Now, what to do about Frankenwhine. How many comedian brains would it take before he could shift to anything resembling center? Franken leans so far left that he has to keep his driver-side window down to see forward.
Ultimately, I don’t have to live in Minnesota, so these elected pre-lymbric single-helix mutiods deserve each other. Franken, Reid, Pelosi, Dodd & Frank can join Ventura in a historic line dance rendition of Puttin on the Ritz for all I care. Every state has their loons, but Minnesota is like the eternal flame—the torch that all flying freaks seem to gravitate toward. What is it, the water? Something in the air? What?
I know, I know, you’ll leave the light on for me, right? Keep burning that pyre high, bitches, and maybe some of my fellow Discordians will make that northward Midwestern Mecca.