Sunday, January 22, 2017

Bless their little Liberal hearts

Get yer shit together, Ireland

Post-election pep talk for the Liberals

Just a few words to our screeching, distraught, and wholly self-absorbed Liberal co-citizens:

First, the words I heard and took to heart when your Lord and Savior Obama was elected not once, but twice: He won, get over it. President Donald J. Trump IS your President unless you want to move; and if you want to move, IM me. I'm available for packing and moving.

Second, to the screaming snowflakes: I know what's really ticking you off. Gone are the days of Free/The World Owes Me Everything. You're staring down the barrel of Reality. One of the things President Trump is known for is being a REALLY HARD WORKER. His kids are hard workers. His employees are hard workers. He values hard work. WORK. It's been a major theme of his, "Putting America back to work." And that doesn't mean whatever it was that you thought you were going to be doing with that Disgruntled Gender Fluid Studies degree you borrowed thousands of dollars to obtain. It means work, what made this Country Great. Building things, creating things, doing things. Busy, busy, busy. Too busy to sit around and whine and take endless selfies. "But this isn't what I want! I want to follow my BLISSSSSSS!" Fine, great, just understand that if there are no blissful jobs that pay enough to support your chosen lifestyle, We the People are not obligated to support you or create a position for you to fill.

Third, to the unbearably self-important screeching harpies of the Feminist movement: Guess what? 42% of American women voted for President Trump. Every single one of us has a uterus, ovaries and vagina. We are mothers, daughters, sisters, wives, girlfriends and single. We are professionals, blue collar, stay-at-home, entrepreneurs, and hopeful that a Trump administration will improve the working situation for all Americans. Because instead of identifying only as female reproductive organs, we identify as Americans. You don't want the government (or anyone really) to meddle in your pussy business? THEN STOP PUSHING YOUR PUSSIES IN OUR FACES. Trust me, we don't care about your pussies. I guarantee you, we want nothing to do with your pussies. But Freedom from meddling carries the burden of responsibility for your choices. You can't demand Freedom in one breath, and with the next demand Government (taxpayer) funded everything. That's like living with your parents rent free and then yelling about having to live by their rules. Oh, wait..... Anyway, Feminists, we don't care. We don't want to know what you do, who you do, how often you do, as long as we aren't held financially responsible for your irresponsible choices.

And lastly, to the working Americans, those who voted for Trump and those who didn't, those who are enthusiastic about the future and those who are cautiously skeptical but willing to give it a go, it's time to saddle up and ride. This is the dawn of American Rebirth.

Sec. of Def. General James "Mad Dog" Mattis

Proof that testosterone doesn't have an expiration date.

Just want to leave this right here

President Trump's Move! program

Now if he can just get them to "bend and reach" the trash cans.

Monday, January 16, 2017

Friday, January 13, 2017

Can we do this if Madonna ever decides to move back?

There's a Christmas List of cunts who need to have their passports denied and/or revoked.

Thursday, January 12, 2017

Just in case you need a feeling check today

I have a diagnosis!

The internet is my best means of "getting out and meeting people". In real life, I'm nothing like I am online. I have social anxiety. I'm the idiot that doesn't know what to say, and will respond to  a waiter who tells me to enjoy, "You too!" And then will spend the rest of the meal obsessing over the faux pas that no one else even noticed. But even online, sometimes it gets to be too much. Too many people, too many voices, too many demands on time and attention and feelings. And I get overwhelmed and have to withdraw for my own sanity. When I disappear and don't post, I'm recharging. I'm somewhere quiet, alone but for the company of a good book, phone turned off and laptop hidden under a pile of unfolded laundry. I am an Ambivert.

"Tan me hide when I'm dead, Fred..."

"So we tanned his hide when he died, Clyde, 
and that's it hanging, framed, on the parlor wall next to the Renoir."