Hail, figments of my overactive imagination, and welcome to another rousing edition of HackFest. Yeah, just when you thought I was going to give this up, I just happen to pop right back up again, like a New York cockroach. Since I'm the kind of guy who loves to kick people when they're down and spray them with kerosene, I'm going to direct this little tidbit to our would've-been prez, John McCain.
So, McCain, it seems you got beat by a black guy. Don't worry. In Harlem, that happens a lot. Seriously, you copped out just when you found out you were losing. It doesn't take a genius to figure out you were going to lose. Looks like smearing the opponent's rep in the dirt doesn't really work for you nowadays. I mean, honestly, a trained bear on a unicycle couldn't have done a better job making you look like Lucifer himself. And what was with your choice of running mate, old man? A closet freak who had so loose of morals and judgement that she makes Madonna look sane? What you honestly need to do, McCain, is look for a nice rest home. Someplace that serves tapioca pudding and plays '20's jazz all day long. That way, when you attempt to look back at your life, they drugs they gave you for Parkinson's will kick in, and you'll be higher then Keith Richards after he smoked Abraham Lincoln's ashes. I just want to see you happy...and the whole Republican party attacked by revived dinosaurs blitzed on whiskey and PCP.
Lots of love and moistness,
Law
