The Rockhouse regards The Guardian as useless expect for the pictures and the following article shows one of them.
At the top of the tabloid sheet for The Guardian, there's a scream about how Trump sold out the world for Big Oil. Oh, it's horrific since now everyone in the world is a victim ... especially us.
Lower down there's a ponderous article from Jill Abramson about What this Fucking Means.
This crap is written by children since anyone else already knows what it means and does not need one more fucking sermon on that matter.
Yah, it smells. Get the fuck over it.
The Guardian sold out Bernie Sanders for Big Money Clinton so now I'm a victim too.
We're all fucking victims.
Everyone is a fucking victim.
Oh, oh, oh, woe is me.
This Queen of the Victims bullshit started a few days ago with Clinton doing a big bucks speech about, oh, I'm a victim and I was so fucking robbed ... while she hustles her new book.
There's a Pretender to the Crown since I saw Megyn Kelly on the TV at VA and I did try to find somewhere else to sit but she was on the other one as well. Even better, this was the Dr Oz show for yet another Queen of Some Dumb Ass Thing.
Kelly was going on about being such a Victim with all her millions of dollars and, guess what, she was hustling her fucking book.
She said, "No-one's going to come and no-one's going to help."
Of course she's right since, wtf, she didn't ... but ... thank the dear Lord she has a book.
Fuckin' people.
Then there was the Harry show and who the fuck is Harry. He looked like an attractive, dark-haired, bearded man and he spoke with Ricky Martin, another attractive, dark-haired, bearded man, and so the attractive, dark-haired, bearded men spoke with each about, you know, dark-haired things and all the women in the audience laughed.
Kee-rist
There are many one-name people on television but none of them are Pink. There's one I think named Wendy and, dayum, she may be the most flatulent judgmental fucktard on any channel.
Sometimes I see this crap when I'm a captive and that's when I stop worrying.
Sure, I'm crazy ... but no fuckin' way am I that far gone.
Ed: you're screwed anyway since that will be on the TV in any nursing home.
There are only two things besides shitty TV in a nursing home: enemas and preaching. Ain't ever goin' happen.
Sometimes a Florence Nightingale comes through but she probably won't last because those places are brutal in the background. They usually don't pay the nursing aides worth a damn.
I ain't fuckin' goin' and, yes, do shoot me. I'd be croaked before I even knew it happened with a good head shot and good night, Irene.
Yah, I'm terrified of nursing homes. Sue me (larfs).
Note: I probably can't get a gun since I don't have a drivers license. Getting a drivers license means jury duty and I don't care to be hassled about why I can't do it. I fuckin' can't. Move along.
I have considered the matter of painless croakage but I don't have any particularly good answer although I did come up with one which would be effective but probably leave a nastier mess than a head shot. That's a shitty thing to do to anyone I love so that's out.
Note: I won't say what it was since maybe some crazy out there would do it.
Those considerations will come but I spend vastly more time considering getting cellphone coverage. There were four MetroPCS places I saw going in and out of Fort Worth today. The first I saw when I was outbound so no time at that stage but I saw three others coming back ... but ... that was during the gullywasher part (i.e. rain) so I took that to be a Sign.
All in good time.
Must close with being a Victim of something ... but ... wtf ... why bother when I'm not trying to hustle a book, huh?
At the top of the tabloid sheet for The Guardian, there's a scream about how Trump sold out the world for Big Oil. Oh, it's horrific since now everyone in the world is a victim ... especially us.
Lower down there's a ponderous article from Jill Abramson about What this Fucking Means.
This crap is written by children since anyone else already knows what it means and does not need one more fucking sermon on that matter.
Yah, it smells. Get the fuck over it.
The Guardian sold out Bernie Sanders for Big Money Clinton so now I'm a victim too.
We're all fucking victims.
Everyone is a fucking victim.
Oh, oh, oh, woe is me.
This Queen of the Victims bullshit started a few days ago with Clinton doing a big bucks speech about, oh, I'm a victim and I was so fucking robbed ... while she hustles her new book.
There's a Pretender to the Crown since I saw Megyn Kelly on the TV at VA and I did try to find somewhere else to sit but she was on the other one as well. Even better, this was the Dr Oz show for yet another Queen of Some Dumb Ass Thing.
Kelly was going on about being such a Victim with all her millions of dollars and, guess what, she was hustling her fucking book.
She said, "No-one's going to come and no-one's going to help."
Of course she's right since, wtf, she didn't ... but ... thank the dear Lord she has a book.
Fuckin' people.
Then there was the Harry show and who the fuck is Harry. He looked like an attractive, dark-haired, bearded man and he spoke with Ricky Martin, another attractive, dark-haired, bearded man, and so the attractive, dark-haired, bearded men spoke with each about, you know, dark-haired things and all the women in the audience laughed.
Kee-rist
There are many one-name people on television but none of them are Pink. There's one I think named Wendy and, dayum, she may be the most flatulent judgmental fucktard on any channel.
Sometimes I see this crap when I'm a captive and that's when I stop worrying.
Sure, I'm crazy ... but no fuckin' way am I that far gone.
Ed: you're screwed anyway since that will be on the TV in any nursing home.
There are only two things besides shitty TV in a nursing home: enemas and preaching. Ain't ever goin' happen.
Sometimes a Florence Nightingale comes through but she probably won't last because those places are brutal in the background. They usually don't pay the nursing aides worth a damn.
I ain't fuckin' goin' and, yes, do shoot me. I'd be croaked before I even knew it happened with a good head shot and good night, Irene.
Yah, I'm terrified of nursing homes. Sue me (larfs).
Note: I probably can't get a gun since I don't have a drivers license. Getting a drivers license means jury duty and I don't care to be hassled about why I can't do it. I fuckin' can't. Move along.
I have considered the matter of painless croakage but I don't have any particularly good answer although I did come up with one which would be effective but probably leave a nastier mess than a head shot. That's a shitty thing to do to anyone I love so that's out.
Note: I won't say what it was since maybe some crazy out there would do it.
Those considerations will come but I spend vastly more time considering getting cellphone coverage. There were four MetroPCS places I saw going in and out of Fort Worth today. The first I saw when I was outbound so no time at that stage but I saw three others coming back ... but ... that was during the gullywasher part (i.e. rain) so I took that to be a Sign.
All in good time.
Must close with being a Victim of something ... but ... wtf ... why bother when I'm not trying to hustle a book, huh?
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