Political Humor |

A few days ago I drove through the bustling megalopolis of Beaver Marsh, Oregon -it took all of four seconds, but it was a scary four seconds. It may have been the blood red mobile home with the dark blue trim, or it may have been the wide spot in the road’s name. Whatever it was, suddenly I had an epiphany, and this triggered an emotional response that I don’t know very well… fear.

What had me so freaked-out was that I realized I agreed with Rahm Emanuel. I had to concede he was correct when he spoke to a group of Far Left libs some months ago. They are fucking retards. What’s worse, I defend his right to use that term.

Terrified at this revelation, I took both hands off the steering wheel and quickly reached between my legs. A firm, two handed grasp sent a reassuring bolt of pain to my brain.

Satisfied I hadn’t been neutered -and would soon want to start chanting “Yes we can” between sips of lesbian coffee at a Starbucks, where I was Tweeting- I re-took control of my four wheel drive truck, stomped on the gas and cranked up Rush. As in Limbaugh, not the band, but the band would have been a good choice too.

Emanuel got himself in hot water for not being political correct. Rahm isn’t known for being very PC, or worrying about the sensitives of others. He’s just that kind of guy. While I don’t agree with that point of view (he says without snickering), I do believe most people are overly-sensitive. They sneak around certain words like a wet-back crossing the border. Here’s my solution: Come down from your crosses, use them to build bridges, and get the fuck over it!

A chink with a Samurai sword, a flee-ridden camel jockey and two nappy-headed hos walk into a bar…

All this politically correct bullshit has got to go. First off, why did we even allow ourselves to be drawn into something labeled politically correct? The first word in the phrase should clue you in. Politically? Oh please. Give my lily white, Aryan ass a brake. Even a bleach blonde bimbo from the San Fernando Valley, carrying a Chihuahua in her purse, knows politics are like totally corrupt. Then there’s correct. In whose opinion? What four-eyed, Pollock numb-nuts thought up that winner?

I say, toss that moronic jargon and let’s rediscover the joy of a funny greasy spaghetti bender or a fat, ghetto, welfare mom joke. A chink with a Samurai sword, a flee-ridden camel jockey and two nappy-headed hos walk into a bar… Seriously, don’t you miss the good old days, before people got their itty-bitty feelings hurt or their panties in a wad, and then start whining like a bunch of little girls? They all need to be publicly bitch slapped.

Even Gov Palin -who has nice tits- has forgotten this. Sarah needs to grow thick elephant hide, and not the RINO, McCain backing skin she seems to be trying on for size, like a red “Rogue Warrior Jacket“.

And speaking of nappy-headed hos (No, not Palin, dumb ass. Take your finger out of your nose and get back on the short bus, you retard.), when it comes to Presidents, I don’t really care what a person’s race, color, creed, or any of that other stupid crap is. Or even if they end their sentences in prepositions.

As long as the candidate shares my conservative convictions, I don’t give a flying shit if they’re an eye-patch wearing, midget, Buddhist woman, in a wheelchair with a parrot on her shoulder, who farts in public -both her and the parrot.

Pick whom ever you want, I’ll vote for them.  Just as long as they’re not a fag or a hippie, ’cause then I’m going to want to beat ‘em like an anorexic, red-headed stepchild.

Coming soon! New material from Les James at both Sideshow Mirrors and Mild Max