I Have Seen Evil And It Munches Rug

Woah! Holy Mary Mother O' Frist!

This is where it all comes down, citizens.

This, my friends, my dear and cherised compatriots, is where th' wheat gets separated from the polesmokin' chaff. This woman embodies sheer, unmitigated evil in a way Ann Coulter takes FUCKING NOTES ON. Whenever I need to jolt myself back to reality after a musical reverie or a particularly piquant romp o'er the moors and meadows of my mem'ry I JUST TAKE A LITTLE SIP OF THIS EVIL, EVIL BREW AND I CAN OPERATE WITHOUT ILLUSION.


This hideous, necrotic, despicable, putrescent little shit reminds me of the high, unctuous note of stink that can only manifest itself in distant mountains of pus. Does that sort of get it across? The moment that she blew fully formed out of dad's priapic forehead attachment is the moment that Hope Died. I used to think that was when John got capped but the national tragedy that is Mary Cheney represents a whole new acme of hopelessness.

When I think of Mary I want to pull my brains out my nose like the Egyptians used to do with gypsies and sodomites when they bricked them into walls on th' eighth day of th' thirteenth month.

Do you see where I'm coming from, man? The hypocrisy of her very being occurs on so many levels and takes so many little twists and turns through dimensions of sheer impossibility that it's like a goddamn movie that afterwards you don't know if you really saw it or it was a hallucination. Speaking of which, every time I see a pitcher of Mary Cheney I just thank god that I've wrecked my head s'bad I can just about go slack and slip into a reverie of Cheetos.

A reverie of Cheetos.

Through warm curtains of acrid, fragrant piss, through jungles of all manner of fecal detritus, across plains worn flat and hard by the farts of a trillion pteridactyls, her name finds its way to me, whispered on a sickly, fetid wind. Mary Cheney....Maaaaary Cheney... I'm like a Poe character, gnashing my teeth and scraping my chair over the spot in the floor where I deposited the gristly morsels of my faith after I hacked it into a pile of turned ground beef with my fucking elbows.

Did I say that.