I have a confession. I — unlike Jim Webb — am a boor. And in this diary I will not hold back with any of my boorish behaviour. Every day that I see your petulant vacant inhumanity splashed across my monitor I beg that you will be eventually put in a special place in hell. A place that will force you to witness your past insensitivity to all that is decent on this planet. Indeed, a place that is eagerly insensitive to your needs. A very very lonely place that has no apologists like George Will to defend your sorry pampered ass.
“I call upon all nations to to everything they can to stop these terrorist killings. Thank you. Now watch this drive.”
In Hell, you will become inflicted with Parkinson’s disease and the devil will shadow box with you.
In Hell, you will be made fully aware of your dyslexia with everyone around you mimicking the way you talk.
In Hell, you will experience the effects of White Phosphorus, while the Devil continually shouts in your ear, “Nope. No WMDs here…or HERE!!”
In Hell, you will be told that your daughters have died in a needless war as the Devil chides you by calling you “Dad” for eternity.
In Hell, the Devil will serenade you with his guitar, adorned with the seal of the souless, as you experience the effectiveness of waterboarding.
In Hell, you will be humiliated and scorned and told how inferior and insignificant you really are. Every day. Every hour. Every second. Every moment.
In Hell, you will feel the entire weight of the thousands of men and women who died and were seriously maimed unjustifiably for this flag that you stepped on.
but I truly hope there is a Hell for this man and his partners in crime.
You said it all my friend. Stoling the fires of hell for this puke.I cannot even call him a human being. He has NEVER showed an ounce of emotion unless it is anger that someone asked him a real question KKKarl hadn’t provided an answer for.
Great Work SG.
tru dat!
The wheels of Karma grind slowly, but surely.
But I must say, seeing him, and everyone involved in putting this putrid sack of puss in the oval office, in the dock at the ICC…or any court for that matter. Perhaps the airing of the egregious actions, and the humiliation, and, one would assume, conviction, especially in Georges’ bizarro psychic world, would be a more appropriate end.
The thought of them all in solitary, with an hour of exercise once a day in a cage gives me great pleasure. Hell on earth, as it were.
Under those conditions, I would wish them all a very long life.
Westley:
“To the pain,” means the first thing you lose will be your feet below the ankles, then your hands at the wrists, next your nose.
Prince Humperdinck:
And, then my tongue I suppose. I killed you too quickly the last time; a mistake I don’t mean to duplicate tonight.
Westley:
I wasn’t finished. The next thing you lose will be your left eye, followed by the right . . .
Prince Humperdinck:
And, then my ears, I understand. Let’s get on with it.
Westley:
Wrong! Your ears you keep, and I’ll tell you why. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish, every babe that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out: “Dear God, what is that thing?” will echo in your perfect ears. That is what “to the pain” means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery, forever.