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Just adore the picture from the golf course, how endearing, ya ol' potbellied thang. The troops must behold the leisurely vision, since, all is well in Iraqikurdshiastan. It is a certainity that some troops are familiar with the country club scene, perhaps some have been former busboys, well acquainted with a country club bum like of you. Until now, our troop's tired eyes have only seen the staged, opportune pictures of you within compounds, acting out that military fantasy occupying yer gooseshit fer brains. A visit to our troops in Iraqikurdshiastan for an unprecedented press release is in order, just drop on by, ya ol' yellard-bellied runt. Oh, your wittle bitty feewings got hurt by the Newsweek article? Ah, true to form, you leave the multitude delightfully snickering at your insipid childish retort; "I'm the leader!" Why do you bother with such a deliciously ridiculous assertion? Known to all, even your own flock, Cheney, the ol' stick in the mud, is the buzzard behind the curtain. The Aussies giving you trouble? "Nah, doesn't bother me none!" supposedly humbled, you replied. Opposition is active in all the countries begrudgingly accepting your invite. Then you will arrive; strutting around with your rooster-posturing, fluffin' yer feathers, kickin' up dirt with yer claws. It's a seriously sad display, more like, coq au vin. Y'aint foolin' nobody, ya ol' potbellied thang!
P.S. Huckleberry Fin, try Letters From The Earth.
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