before the Twitter Twats prostrate themselves on all fours with their pants down around their ankles, whilst begging for a good reaming by their mentor and Presidential Shitstain? I can already hear the profuse apologies for being so silly as to actually call the bullshitter-in-chief and pussy-grabber a goddam liar. And the Twitter Twat pussies did it in the nicest, kindest, most meaningless way possible.

The Democrats aren’t collectively smart enough to realize that all they have to do is hold up a cardboard cutout of their Anointed One.  The mentally challenged senior citizen doesn’t have to speak. The old’s job is to stand around and try not to dodder. People will applaud and cheer, and vote.

Old Joe must be replaced at once with a pasty-faced clown. Look what that did for the Republicans. If the Democrats can’t find an actual clown to volunteer, they must put a shiny new coat of paint on Old Joe and wheel him out. Good luck with the new paint.

Remember this, though: Tape his fingers so he can’t, you know.

The American tin-pot, would-be dick-taterhead just won’t catch his favorite Roaring Twenties disease and draw his last breath while in office. Imagine the spectacle with Jared and Ivanka and the rest of the incompetents planning the state funeral. Too bad, so sad. However, the rest of the world enjoys a little humor until the election, during which time another senile old shit will get elected to take the country even deeper into the abyss.

Here’s to hoping that one chooses a VP candidate capable of doing something besides getting down on his/her knees to pray, you know, in case he dies in office of old age.

On the other hand, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Democrats fuck up their chance so badly that the MAGAcovid+jesus party (quite the little beach party so far, isn’t it?) wins another term.

Here’s a thought, Dems: Tie the perpetrator’s Joe Biden’s hands behind his back so he can’t finger anyone female or male, tape his mouth shut, and wheel him out from time to time to show the world how progressive you’ve become. Mind you, they’ll probably fuck that up, too.

The person that chose that particular song for America’s Presidential Shitstain whilst on what must have been an absolute delightful factory tour deserves a round of applause and a raise.

If I might add one small thing: I don’t want to wear any of the masks that outfit produced while the Presidential Shitstain oozed through the place.

Out comes pure gold. Just when I was beginning to get into the groove of this pandemic curse, I learn I have to include Lysol wipes in my diet. (Need I say don’t do this? I guess I do. DON’T DO THIS.)

Will wonders never cease? Don’t bother answering that. I won’t be here. I’m going to get naked and go outside to bathe in the light whilst passing Lysol wipes. Talk about a clean sweep.

INHALE THE LIGHT!