Barely hanging on in this sulfuric atmosphere

I had to open the widow. Keisha, our loveable old rottweiler, released a massive dose of methane. These silent assaults are impossible to describe; one has never experienced the sudden rush of overpowering hell until they’ve had their entire being traumatized by her beastly rectal vapor. I’m sure it’s purely coincidental, but she is infamous for slaying us while we’re eating. Her farts actually penetrate food, literally turning ham salad on wheat into a shit sandwich. At least fifteen minutes must pass before the Hovel Goddess and her lame burden can smoke without risking terrible death.

Newt Gingrich and his latest spooge receptacle are determined to avoid honest employment. Fronting a Muslim bashing flick so disgusting Preacher Jones fears years of diligent brainwashing is at risk should his tank-topped cult view the abomination, the Sid and Nancy of vicious fear mongering are determined to squeeze America’s tea baggers dry before Glenn Beck. Like a Clive Barker character, Newt lurks about in dark, unspeakable damnation until summoned by the lure of easy election year PAC money. I take it his blond succubus must be a Mel Gibson Catholic.

It’s impossible to dwell upon vicious fear mongering without mentioning Hannity. I thought he was going to cry last night when Karl Rove spoke poorly of Delaware’s Miss Spooky Panties 2010. A Republican speaking ill of a Republican candidate on Fox is akin to pinching off a loaf atop St. Peter’s Baldachin Altar during the televised Christmas mass; poor Karl. The first time in 34 years he tells the truth and even his buddy Rush Limbaugh blows out a Cochlear implant yelling at him…so much for Big Tent conservatism.
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Hannity: What’s so wrong with Christine O’Donnell that you can’t support her?
Rove: She’s mentally retarded, Sean.
Hannity: Now that’s a lie, Karl!
Rove: No, she has Down syndrome.
Hannity: Her mother could be Asian! What’s wrong with Asians! Can’t Asians be good Obama-hating conservatives! Wait, hang on. Governor Palin’s on the line.
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I do not have a Twitter account, cell phone or ski equipment. I don’t want anyone to ever accuse me of making shit up.

Rumors that I was deported from Great Britain are kind of true. It’s complicated. Let’s just say that I was strongly advised to leave in a big hurry.

PS: Tomorrow is Beloved's mother's XXXXXXXXVI birthday. Upcoming festivity conversations are conducted in Latin. The dress code is toga casual for men; tunic casual for women. Chariot races will be held regardless of weather conditions. I'm hoping for a muddy track, as sloppy turf neutralizes Reidicus' superior driving skills...and the fact he's using a horse, while I'm whipping the Old Hide to shake a leg.