According to 23andMe, I’m around 5% to 7% Shithole. If you include dirty Italian, dark Iberian, and Balkan gypsy, that number rises to 90% Shithole. Feeling proud.
Before the phone rings and my parents cackle-sing “Happy Birthday” into my ear then ask me what kind of cake or pastry I want for my birthday dessert, I wish to address our dear leader and make some birthday wishes of my own.
It is an honor and privilege to turn another year older under your noble reign. May you transfer so much wealth from the poor to the rich that Putin needs to build more Russian banks to hold all the money. May the sick without healthcare not die on the sidewalks in front of your towers. May Mar-a-Lago always rise above sea level. May you detain and deport many Mexican rapists. May facts remain as elusive as your tax returns. May you find the 3 million people who voted illegally. May your faithful followers, especially the Sean Calamity Shamity asslickers, forever defend your cons, lies, vulgarity, indecency, bullying, and cruelty while whining about how victimized they are by liberals. May they always believe fake news and never wake up to the truth. May your every tee shot be a hole-in-one.
And most of all, when your time comes, may God show you more mercy and grace than you did for his children.
The phone’s ringing.
So, dear leader, as you blow out the candles on the planet, let us eat cannoli cake.
I fucken ??❤️ Vicente.
If you don’t find this funny, or if you find it annoying, then you are part of the prediscursive cisproblem.
8-year-old Aiden Miller recounted an extremely vivid near-death experience Friday that reportedly contained detailed descriptions of heaven, angels, and a six-figure book deal. “I was walking up in the clouds and met friends, and strangers, and all these famous people who talked with me about all kinds of things and brought up the possibility of selling the rights to my story to a big-name publisher…”
Then he met the angel of Patrick Henry who said, “Give me publishing or give me death.” And Jesus responded, “What’s the difference?”
< 1973 and 2017 >
I miss having blond hair. Well, I miss having hair. I remember loving that book bag. I’d wear that shirt today, but not the socks or shoes. Oh, the things I wish I could tell that kid.