Sunday Mornin’, Goin’ Down

Satan’s sermon this Sunday morning was a sulphurous blast at Tennessee Senator Bob Corker:

Senator Bob Corker “begged” me to endorse him for re-election in Tennessee. I said “NO” and he dropped out (said he could not win without my endorsement). He also wanted to be Secretary of State, I said “NO THANKS.” He is also largely responsible for the horrendous Iran Deal! Hence, I would fully expect Corker to be a negative voice and stand in the way of our great agenda. Didn’t have the guts to run!

Corker is a mainline Republican—that is, a Barney Rubble from out of the Stone Age—who, as is common with such people, bob-corker-donald-trump-vpattained office riding racism, and once there refused to vote for Dodd-Frank, firearm background checks, the automaker-revival act, The Kenyan’s health care legislation, and cap-and-trade, among other pleasantries.

Corker is a tool, but he does possess sentience. Which is why in recent weeks he has publicly observed that Morongo lacks “stability and competence,” does not “understand the character of this nation,” and is basically an agent of chaos.

Corker has declined to seek re-election in 2018, because, like everyone with a functioning cerebrum, he has no interest in participating in the politics of Morongo.

Though once considered for top posts in the Morongo administration, when friendly with both Morongo, and all the other criminals in Morongo’s immediate family—Lolita, Lampshade, Mrs. Mongo Vol. III, Uday & Qusay—Corker has since concluded he would rather set fire to himself in the county square, than continue to pretend that Morongo is a decent human being.

Some new word of Corker’s revulsion must have pulsed out of the Morongo hi-fi TV this morning—presumably on the Frauds and Fiends show, Morongo’s own personal Pravda—thereby causing Morongo to commence the twitler Satanism.

As ever, those twitlers suppurate with lies:

A person familiar with Trump and Corker’s recent conversations disputed each of the claims the president made in his tweets. Trump called Corker early last week and asked him to reconsider his decision not to seek reelection, according to this person, who spoke on the condition of anonymity because of the sensitivity of the private conversations. This person said the president also reaffirmed that he would have endorsed Corker had he decided to run again—which, this person added, was not the first time that Trump had extended such an offer of support.

Proving correct, once again, the cassandraing of Kimmel:

No breathing human on the planet Earth produces more fake news than Donald Trump. He’s the Michael Jordan, Elvis Presley and 2016-11-25_17-39-49Great Wall of China of fake news combined. Donald Trump criticizing fake news is like Hugh Hefner criticizing fake breasts.

Morongo apparently doesn’t care that Corker can do real damage in the 16 months he has left in office. It is more important to Morongo to scream and kick his high chair and throw his rattle in the twitlers.

Corker responded by stating, correctly, that Morongo is a bad-seed Baby Huey, who needs to be closely monitored at all times.

It’s a shame the White House has become an adult day care center. Someone obviously missed their shift this morning.

Morongo then rushed onto the television to demonstrate that his malignant narcissism has now rendered him totally insane:
“I think one of the greatest of all terms I’ve come up with is ‘fake,’” Trump said. “I guess other people have used it, perhaps over the years, but I’ve never noticed it.”
Right. No one ever used the word “fake,” until Morongo upchucked it. It was not even in the dictionary! Morongo invented it. Because he has all the best words.
Morongo meanwhile dispatched Mommy to the football game, ordering Mommy to leave as soon as there were the Kneeling Negroes, thereby continuing Morongo’s ferocious War On Melanin.
“I left today’s Colts game because Resident Trayf and I will not dignify any event that disrespects our serial killers or our Star Slavery Banner,” Mommy, in a prepared crying jag, sobbed. “At a time when so many Americans are inspiring our nation with their courage, resolve, and resilience, now, more than ever, we should rally around Der Führer, and everything that unites us as MorongoRoids dumber than dirt, and meaner than snakes.”
Mommy continues to publicly display craven fealty to all things Morongo, even as privately he urges Order Man to put polonium in the KFC bucket.
Morongo’s Oberst-Gruppenfuhrer in the War On Melanin, Confederate General Jefferson Beauregard seSSions III, a.k.a “Sheets,” meanwhile sessionsreleased a nuthole document claiming that “black identity extremists” are everywhere shooting the police while feeding white women marijuana so they can more easily be rapined.
In truth, of course, there are no longer among the Americans such a thing as “black identity extremists.” All such are long dead or retired. It is just that Sheets, like Morongo, like all of the MorongoRoids, regard anyone with a black identity, as an extremist.
They are complete Klansmen, Morongo and Sheets. Which is why early this morning they had Speedy Gonzales shot, coming across the border.
In his War On Melanin, Morongo continues to ignore Puerto Rico—icky brown people—and so Puerto Rico is coming to Florida, accelerating the washing away of the white people, so that soon there will be no more Skeletors there, and the Panhandlers will have to cry in their pigs, as Florida will be like California, where the top elected officials say things like: “California is building a wall of justice against President Trump’s xenophobic, racist and ignorant immigration policies.”
Apostate tube-creators are at DefCon One because they now Understand:
Drawing a straight line between addiction to social media and political earthquakes like Brexit and the rise of Donald Trump, they contend that digital forces have completely upended the political system and, left unchecked, could even render democracy as we know it obsolete.
It has emerged that when Morongo once complained to Frank Sinatra that Sinatra wanted too much money to open Morongo’s Atlantic City casino, the singer responded: “go fuck yourself.” A Sinatra associate then tried to garrote Morongo with his tie:

Mr Trump also decided he did not need to book the other acts, including Sammy Davis Jr, who had just been diagnosed with cancer, and husband-and-wife pop duo Steve and Eydie. When challenged by Weisman, Mr Trump asked “Who’s Steve and Eydie?” Weisman says he then tried choking the future president by his tie, but that his son restrained him.

He said he then called Sinatra to tell him what had happened, and the singer told him he had two choices; either tell Mr godfather43Trump “to go fuck himself” or give the reality show star’s phone number to Sinatra so that he could do it himself.

Weisman says he returned to Trump’s office and told him “Sinatra says go fuck yourself!” Sinatra ended up playing at the Sands in Las Vegas instead.

What all non-MorongoRoids want to know is: why did Morongo not end up tossed atop a New Jersey garbage dump, after this Outrage? Perhaps the problem is that there just aren’t many old-style “Italian identity extremists” around these days. Else Morongo might have received a Moe Greene eye. And the Americans would then have been spared, this, their long national nightmare.


12 Responses to “Sunday Mornin’, Goin’ Down”

  1. 1 santera hoochie October 8, 2017 at 6:52 pm

    This is absolutely hilarious. I had almost forgotten how damned funny you are. Thank you for an unforgettable Sunday Sermon.

    • 2 bluenred October 9, 2017 at 1:57 pm

      What “funny”? This is serious!

      ; )

      • 3 santera hoochie October 9, 2017 at 8:45 pm

        I know it’s serious.

        A person who can make you laugh is a gift. Anyone can tell a sad tale, takes no particular talent, but to have an exquisite mordant wit is to be genuinely blessed. You share it with your readers and I’m thankful for that. 😉

  2. 4 santera hoochie October 8, 2017 at 7:03 pm

    No mercy for Lolita Mongo, who “liked” a tweet in which Andrew Kascynski quoted her daddy as follows: “She’s a piece of ass.”

    In case that link doesn’t work, it’s from October 10 2016 @KFILE on Twitter. Actual quote from Mongo’s big stupid mouf was from Howard Stern in 2004.

    • 5 bluenred October 9, 2017 at 2:29 pm

      That “piece of ass” comment is going to come back to bite her when she goes into the prison. She will offer her cellmates Mrs. Mongo Vol. III’s used stilettos if they leave her alone, but they will demand she get tattoos on her face. They will carve “daddy’s girl” into her forehead. All the Mongo deadenders will race out to get similar tattoos, in solidarity. It will be like Manson, and the Manson girls, with the x on the forehead, later changed to a swastika.

      • 6 santera hoochie October 9, 2017 at 8:39 pm

        Lolita as a Manson Girl? Now that’s just genius! You are *very* funny. What Sally said below.

        Didn’t know you’re such a speed demon typist, though I knew that you think much faster than anyone else.

  3. 7 sally October 9, 2017 at 4:54 pm

    Santera is right! You may be serious, but you are also hilarious, The question is — WHY aren’t you writing a novel — or two — or… A ND you also type faster than any other human being I know…

    • 8 santera hoochie October 9, 2017 at 8:47 pm

      Excellent question, Sally. I think he should let his light shine and write books, too.

    • 9 bluenred October 12, 2017 at 4:24 pm

      Too old and lazy. Also, you have to be really selfish.

      • 10 santera hoochie October 12, 2017 at 8:09 pm

        O-kay then. You aren’t old or lazy, and you can be selfish for us. If you liked your adoring fans, you would do this. 😮

        • 11 janis October 12, 2017 at 9:05 pm

          bluenred is already offering quality writing, right here.

        • 12 bluenred October 12, 2017 at 11:06 pm

          Once upon a time I knew a gal, and a novel-writer, and they set to courtin’, and then, in the fullness of time, she spent the night at his place. At 6:55 a.m. the next morning he brought to her in bed a cup of coffee, and said “you have to leave now.” Say what? Well, he wrote every morning from 7:00 to 10:00 a.m., and during that time nothing and no one else existed. She sat there stunned, while he went into his writing room, and shut the door.

          James Joyce would sit in his room and write, while out in the larger house his family gnawed on paint scraped off the walls, because he’d neglected to go out and borrow money from somebody, so there would be food.

          Etc. Etc.

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