Evil Overlord.
Fucknuts! Who would've thunk it! Suddenly Peter Costello forecasts a rather grimmer economy than first imagined . So, wait...does this mean some of those incredible, hip-pocket election promises might not actually come to be ?
I'm speechless.
Mostly at the bunch of infested hicks who bootscooted down to the polling booths with stars in their eyes. Don't come crying to me when you're up to your inbred genitals in interest rates and the 'workers friend' (TM) John 'Call Me JJ' Howard isn't lending a clammy hand.
For god's sake, look at him. You can't hear him laughing in that picture but you just know he's tipping his head back, twirling an imaginary moustache and bellowing: 'MMWAAHAHAHHAAAAA*' while around him dwarves with fangs dance menacingly and at hip-height.
* This is exactly how evil overlords laugh and I know how to spell it due to my illustrious television writing career.
Comments
Oh, my God Ms Fits! What have I done???
I voted for the Forces of Evil even though you told me not to. Now my inbred genitals are at risk.
Well, at least I am sure you will have the grace to refrain from saying, "I told you so".
Are you still here?
Are you still cross with me?
Oh my god, he took "Minty Twat" and registered on blogger with it.
Actually, I don't know that "Minty Twat" is such an insult. I mean, it's an odd flavour for the context, but it's more amusing than vicious.
Disappointing.
I remain staggered by Mr C's having the balls to start dropping promises only four days out from election day. Are the Mugginses paying attention? No, they've tuned out of politics again. Cunting bastards.
Hey Jeremy, you're a solicitor. What have you put in the time sheet for 9.08 a.m.?
Why are you such a bore, little Twat?
I have asked politely that you fuck in the direction of off. If you continue to meander and gloat I shall be forced to bin your comments. I can do this because I am Jesus of the blog.
Now fuck off.
Ms Fits, let him stay. I think he is trying to flirt with you.
You can almost smell the hard on.
I think he's cute in a Liberal-voting-yet-still-taking-time-out-of-his-day-to-impress-the-lefties way. The fact that he bothered to register Minty Twat would indicate to me that he's hoping he can convert you with high-larious behaviour. He totally wants to touch your pink bits and tits, Ms Fits. He also may or may not eat grits.
Grits?
There's something he gives me that rhymes with the word 'its' as well, but I can't for the life of me place it for now.
Still, if he's attempting to flirt, then by all means go ahead.
It just seemed to rhyme. Nothing wrong with grits though, I'm sure. The fabulous Dolly Parton loves 'em.
If you're interested - enjoy this recipe for Kentucky Cheese Garlic Grits.
I neither confirm nor deny the flirting accusation.
That is my policy.
I do, however, undertake to keep any unattractive gloating to an absolute minimum from now on. Unless I change my mind because an irresistible urge overtakes me.
Tristan, your writing is terribly un-sexy.
Continue to flirt, though. I think you're wooing her well.
Un-sexy eh?
Maybe some of us have a more subtle approach.
Maybe we are fans of the love/hate relationship scenario.
Maybe we enjoy those romantic comedies where the guy and the girl just can't stand each other until the very moment they fall into each others' arms. And they realise what you and I have known ALL ALONG. That they were meant for each other. In the end nothing was going to keep them apart because they are two halves of one whole - two hearts beating as one. Ms Fits and me.
Anyway, I still neither confirm nor deny the flirting.
I think I just vomited blood.
Book Book Cheep Cheep - I think you're right. She's beginning to soften.
P.S. Ms Fits - if we get married (one day) I wont insist on you changing your surname to Twat.
Hey, Twat (you don't mind if I call you that, do you? I just don't feel comfortable at this stage in our relationship calling you by your first name, Minty). Nothing irritates me more than smartarses who try to catch people out blogging whilst they're at work.
(Actually, that's not true, there are quite a few things which irritate me more, but as it happens you represent many of them anyway.)
As it happens, I had Court this morning and therefore, since it's right around the corner, hadn't left for work yet. So thbtthbththt. (Which I assume is how illustrious television writers spell raspberries.)
Actually Jeremy I felt guilty about that post almost immediately after I wrote it.
It's not as if I am your supervisor or anything (or am I?). No. Actually I am a bit disappointed that you weren't at work when you posted. Shouldn't you have just told me to get fucked and mind my own business? Who am I to give a shit whether you are spending your work day posting?
Just what exactly were you doing in court by the way?
I trust you were defending the underdog.
Or was this some big corporate client?
Murder. Marry. Fight. Fuck! Ready?
John Cleese
George W. Bush
Morgan Freeman
Your Favorite Cousin
I heart you Kranki.
MURDER - GWB. The world would totally be a safer place. And Conan O'Brien would make jokes about me after an appropriate time of mourning had passed.
MARRY - Morgan Freeman. Dude, how kindly does this guy appear to be? He would care for me and bring me cups of tea. Which is really all I look for in a life partner.
FIGHT - John Cleese. With fish. In a highly comical fashion.
FUCK - My favourite cousin. Everyone secretly wants to fuck their favourite cousin. Right?
Comments are closed.