... once he's there, all glorified and robed-and-harped and all that, and after I'm also thoroughly dead (bound undoubtedly for eternal punishment for my lack of acceptance of your "faith") allow me just ONE chance to wrap my fingers around his lying, thieving, child-murdering-by-proxy, chicken-hawkish, deserting, coke-snorting, binge-drinking, I-REFUSE-to-ever-learn-from-my-stupid-mistakes, throat
and just SQUEEZE!
Bet I can make my fingers meet in the middle.
You can have your $DEITY bring the slimebag back to whatever semblance of puppet-hood it had, afterwards (but don't expect brains, since there were none evident before), then commit me to the eternal flames. I'll go quietly then, maybe a nice swan-dive into the lake of fire, pass the asbestos washcloth.
Any "heaven" that would allow the Shrub in "on faith" is NOT worth being in.
--
wwill
I've always wondered how Cheney, Rove, and the other puppeteers feel, always having their hands inside the slimey thing that passes for a spine? Maybe it's kinda like CrudPuppy, pulling on the tendons and things (to make it sort of UFie-topic-wise).
May the Great Spirit, Creator of all things, deal justly with us all.
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