I thought of doing some snark with Snarly, Ms. Lice and all the others sitting around, drinking coffee and soda pop, deciding how many slaps, how much water to pour on a fella's face, how long to hang some poor bugger from his arms behind his back -- and then hear them say, "We don't torture -- we decided to call it intensive interrogation..."
But it's too sick -- this is not my country, this is not the Lady of Light and Liberty. This is not the "City of Light upon the hill"
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the Codpiece himself drawls, "Why shore, I knew, I approved, sheet, I thought it was kinna cool."
Meanwhile, the Bankers of Illusion yawn and get down to the serious news, did Bulimo Charisma turn down a cup of coffee and ask for orange juice?
Meanwhile, Mad Kane, the media darling and prime candidate for Supreme Hole after Rexona, the First, continues to babble, confusing Sunni and Shia -- but hey, if you are a straight talker, a manly man, who needs to know anything except where the button of power is?
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