Mommy was rooting for the guy that sold out to the Rothschilds and nuked two cities of a country that was already beaten. His seat cushion could have just as easily signed off on it, but this level of executive sentience would first be permitted in far off 2020. Mommy proved that some folks just shouldn't have a vote. The farty seat cushion proved that a flatulence soiled polymer sponge is lower on the list of worst executives than some other incumbents of that chair. At least it didn't nuke anyone.
Daddy supported a different globalist also bought by the Rothschilds, proving that who chooses a lesser evil still chooses evil, and therefore voting does not matter other than making folks culpable. Their descendants will suffer, having chosen to continue the game rather than reinvent a new one more closely resembling that of the founders of their former nation.
The cat and the dog don't care about all this as it is above their pay grade, and their descendants are going to have to get by just as they did. Walkies and naps and spraybottles and shouting are the limits of decent middle class pethood. It could be worse.
Junior humps his way through ROTC and has a whale of a time bombing the stuffing out of little yellow people that had it coming, to keep other little yellow people free from being in the other globalist faction. Unfortunately the other faction shot Junior out of his stratospheric bomb chair and he was collected by a little yellow fellow called Charles, a nervous type that didn't much appreciate being bombed, who handed Junior over to his little wizened yellow uncle, called Ho, also notably bomb happy but who at least got significantly more cats and dogs than Charlie.
After a few years subsisting on rats that flourished in the absence of cats, and Charlie, Junior got to go home, though some of his hotel mates didn't, because some rats and fat cats at home had higher priorities like getting richer and fatter. Junior was pretty messed up now much like everyone else, but dutifully played the stupid game and got married to a female voter and made some fresh little voters.
Charlie moved in next door with some relatives, who with the passage of time were mostly weaned off cats and dogs and rats. They were wicked smart with business and math and definitely did not want see or hear anything of their old uncle, though were disappointed by many a Ho that proved to be almost worse than the original, and dirtier than a farty old seat cushion.
The game went on, and some cynical folk concluded it was best to be resilient like a chair, since they had to deal with every ass that sat on them even if they couldn't choose which, and besides, ass is ass.
Mommy was rooting for the guy that sold out to the Rothschilds and nuked two cities of a country that was already beaten. His seat cushion could have just as easily signed off on it, but this level of executive sentience would first be permitted in far off 2020. Mommy proved that some folks just shouldn't have a vote. The farty seat cushion proved that a flatulence soiled polymer sponge is lower on the list of worst executives than some other incumbents of that chair. At least it didn't nuke anyone.
ReplyDeleteDaddy supported a different globalist also bought by the Rothschilds, proving that who chooses a lesser evil still chooses evil, and therefore voting does not matter other than making folks culpable. Their descendants will suffer, having chosen to continue the game rather than reinvent a new one more closely resembling that of the founders of their former nation.
The cat and the dog don't care about all this as it is above their pay grade, and their descendants are going to have to get by just as they did. Walkies and naps and spraybottles and shouting are the limits of decent middle class pethood. It could be worse.
Junior humps his way through ROTC and has a whale of a time bombing the stuffing out of little yellow people that had it coming, to keep other little yellow people free from being in the other globalist faction. Unfortunately the other faction shot Junior out of his stratospheric bomb chair and he was collected by a little yellow fellow called Charles, a nervous type that didn't much appreciate being bombed, who handed Junior over to his little wizened yellow uncle, called Ho, also notably bomb happy but who at least got significantly more cats and dogs than Charlie.
After a few years subsisting on rats that flourished in the absence of cats, and Charlie, Junior got to go home, though some of his hotel mates didn't, because some rats and fat cats at home had higher priorities like getting richer and fatter. Junior was pretty messed up now much like everyone else, but dutifully played the stupid game and got married to a female voter and made some fresh little voters.
Charlie moved in next door with some relatives, who with the passage of time were mostly weaned off cats and dogs and rats. They were wicked smart with business and math and definitely did not want see or hear anything of their old uncle, though were disappointed by many a Ho that proved to be almost worse than the original, and dirtier than a farty old seat cushion.
The game went on, and some cynical folk concluded it was best to be resilient like a chair, since they had to deal with every ass that sat on them even if they couldn't choose which, and besides, ass is ass.
Stefan v.