Hey Ronnie, you dumb ol' beef-eatin' redneck prick,
Hey, bud! Yeah, I just found out that those big-ass lizards that really dumb-ass people are calling the Illuminati hate people but that they use us for food. Christ, what shit. Hey, Ronnie, the last time you ate a piece of fried chicken did you remind yourself how much you hate those little two-legged fuckers? Of course you didn't. That's the fucking point. But, hey, all this Reptilian shit is enough to make me go vegetarian. As a matter of fact, I'd have gone vegetarian a long time ago but we big-ass two-leggeds seem to need animal protein in order to survive. Unless you're a 90-pound bolemic coed who really gets off being skinny. I like my women a lot older (like 30 years older) and with some goddamn meat on them. Oh, Christ, here we go again. Being obsessed with meat. Shit, now I'm getting off the track again. You know me.
First of all, let's forget about those fucking little Benedict Arnold pricks Ed Snowden and Brad Manning. They "made their own beds" so "let them lie in them". I love cliches. You can use them when you don't feel like thinking and it's perfectly OK. Fuck, yes. Everybody's doing it. And I've already tossed that George Zimmerman-Trayvon Martin TV ratings deal out the fucking window and into the street where nasty racist shit belongs It doesn't even belong there but those fuckers aren't going to give up hating. Not for all the money in the world. That racial trump card crap actually belongs in the gutter, where the hateful dregs of humanity like to prowl. Fuck that shit. I've got a life to live. Not much of a life, but a life nevertheless. And so do you. And so do they. But they'e not interested in living unless they can fuck with other people. Like that shit is free. Dumb fucks. But, Christ in a can, here I go getting off the fucking track again.
Oh, yeah, check out the Reptilian shit on YouTube. Jesus, what creepy shit. There sure are a lot of people in this world who like to wallow in gross shit. Reptile people who eat our kids. Jesus. And how 'bout that fucking Pleiadian shit, huh? Worse than the Gray shit (those fuckheads spell it Grey like they were all from Limey-ass Land or something). What the fuck do Limeys know about anything? They can't even speak English without looking and sounding like somebody's using a cattle prod on them and making them talk. They hate to move their goddamn lips, especially that stiff upper one, but those fuckers love to tell us how it is. Don't they, now?
But, hey Ronnie, we free-willed Earthlings don't have to worry about a goddamn thing because we'll be saved by the fucking Andromedans. Jesus God. I'm so fucking relieved and enraptured it makes me want to run around town buck naked throwing rose petals at everyone while singing "We Are The World". Yeah, those 4D fuckheads are pretending to be higher-level beings who have the right to offer us 3D peons two choices in the near future. Stay here or go with them. What kind of fucking free will has only two fucking choices? Huh? What fucking shit. Christ, I'll tell ya, Ronnie, there are more fucking liars on YouTube then there are on TV. I swear to Christ. Can you believe that malarkey? But, hey, that reminds me. We've been lied to way before YouTube even existed. That ol' lying Yankee Benedict Arnold, Stevie Spielberg, will have his fucking judgment day somewhere out there, won't he, now? DO-DEE-DO-DEE-DAAAAAA! Jesus, what fucking crap.
And, oh yeah, I still avoid The Hallmark Channel like the fucking plague. Always have. Every fucking holiday there's some goddamn family tragedy. Christ I hate being sad at holiday time. What the fuck? You know, like the sorry sad sacks Santa forgets and broken homes and Moms out on their own. Families that cry and hug and cry some more. Jesus Christ. That sorry sad shit doesn't help anybody. In fact, it feeds the dark side of this sad-ass world. Then there's the Lifetime channel where women with low self esteem go to submerge their sick psyches into preposterous stories about betrayal and family horror. Whining, crying, ball-busting bitches all over America are making those fucking Reptilians stronger and stronger whenever they cry and hate and and point their fingers and accuse all those nasty pricks who did all those horrible things to all those innocent "women's women". Lez Bud wannbes, if you ask me. Innocent, my ass. Then they watch that fucking Bridezillas show on the We channel. No wonder American women are so fucked up. They watch too much TV. The only channel that compares to Lifetime for snaring stupid man-hating bitches is USA. Couch potato hags all over America get their jollies when men go to the slammer. SLAM! Another hateful hag gets off.
But none of that sick shit's enough to make me watch that fucking G4, or Esquire, whenever they get around to changing the name. Most American men watch shit on TV that I have no interest in. Being a big fucking deal. Treating women like meat while pretending to be God's gift to women. What shit. Being the best at anything and everything. Not caring about anything, as if that bullshit trait is a fucking virtue. Not shaving, not bathing and wearing dark-ass, bad-ass clothes that supposedly puts all the young bitches in heat (and the homos) and all the regular men on edge with jealousy. Christ, Ron, what a bunch of fucking crap. Isn't it, now? Yeah, like hunting deer on OLN while dressed up in those stupid Ghillie suits that make them look like goofy, fool-ass morons. They look like two-legged porcupines for Trick-Or-Treat. Or else cheesy, cornball aliens from the old Star Trek TV show. They look like fucking idiots. Or else they're watching yet another flock of NASCAR whore cars go around in a circle for hours. No wonder American men are so brain dead. But those shitty "men's channels" are still better than AMC. At least most of the shows on Esquire (G4), OLN and Speed are about living people, not the fucking dead. Jesus.
But none of that sick shit's enough to make me watch that fucking G4, or Esquire, whenever they get around to changing the name. Most American men watch shit on TV that I have no interest in. Being a big fucking deal. Treating women like meat while pretending to be God's gift to women. What shit. Being the best at anything and everything. Not caring about anything, as if that bullshit trait is a fucking virtue. Not shaving, not bathing and wearing dark-ass, bad-ass clothes that supposedly puts all the young bitches in heat (and the homos) and all the regular men on edge with jealousy. Christ, Ron, what a bunch of fucking crap. Isn't it, now? Yeah, like hunting deer on OLN while dressed up in those stupid Ghillie suits that make them look like goofy, fool-ass morons. They look like two-legged porcupines for Trick-Or-Treat. Or else cheesy, cornball aliens from the old Star Trek TV show. They look like fucking idiots. Or else they're watching yet another flock of NASCAR whore cars go around in a circle for hours. No wonder American men are so brain dead. But those shitty "men's channels" are still better than AMC. At least most of the shows on Esquire (G4), OLN and Speed are about living people, not the fucking dead. Jesus.
Yo, Ron. Say high to all those snooping pricks and bitches on the dark side of the moon. You know how to do say "hi" don't you, Ron? Just go outside and point your middle finger up at the sky. There you go. Yeah, yeah, you're Ronnie 3 now but only to yourself. Think you can remember that? One more thing: let's not forget the memory of our poor little calico cats. Those Google Adsense pricks will tear each other new assholes scrambling for the right cat ad to tack onto our Gmail messages. Did I ever tell you that I stopped using Adsense when they started running video gaming ads on my blog that said "Join the Orgy Now"? No fucking lie. This world is a goner. The Reptilian thing might be true. That's right, that orgy cartoon shit grossed me out. Grossed me right out. But, oh yeah, I left my cat's pooped and peed litter box in the hall closet. Every time I open that stinking closet door it reminds me of how glad I am the little fucker's dead.
Ted
(Yeah, Ronnie, I'm still Ted, not Ted 1 or Ted 2. I'm the only goddamn fucking Ted you need to worry about. Or else start worrying about that goddamn Wiffle Ball bat with your name on it. All right, then. And, no, nobody knows we really don't have calico cats. Mine's a big-ass orange-and-white and yours is a little gray tiger-stripe. And they're both doing just fine. But keep that shit to yourself because we're mucking with "The G" here.)
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