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"And you wanna make fun of me? Saying you were in 2nd grade when I was first in the Senate? Fuck you. You know what I was doing then while your daddy was showing you how to rip the intestines out of a moose or some such shit? I was trying to stop the Nixon administration from blowing the fuck out Cambodia. And when you were sashaying your ass around a stage in a swimsuit and heels, wondering if you could just handjob the judges backstage, I was facing down Ronald Reagan for his insane policies, including in Lebanon. But that'd be history and that requires you to think about more than whatever talking points John McCain has been jamming up your twat and down your throat for the last couple of months, which is the only time you've given a shit about more than how to use your office to get jobs for friends, take revenge on ex-in-laws, and get pretty, shiny presents.
"I don't wanna fuckin' hear about this dink anymore. I don't wanna know about how she went to five different safety schools before squeezing out a vanity degree like a turd from a constipated old man. I don't wanna hear about her retarded baby. I don't wanna hear about her knocked-up teenage daughter. I don't wanna hear about her fuckin' redneck husband. Fuck them. They are the ones who need to be led, not the ones who need to be leading. So I don't give a fuck about what Bush with boobs here has to say about jack shit. And you know what else? I don't wanna hear about the wisdom of small town America. You know where the Founders spent their time? In the cities. In Paris. In London. Small towns? That's called 'isolation.' And it's bullshit political talk for 'white,' Gwen. Oh, do I sound elitist? If it's elitist to want to elect people who actually have a thought in their head about more than whether or not to name the next child 'Remington' or 'Colt,' then, fine, fuck me, it's elitist.
"This ain't a fuckin' game, Gwen. It ain't a fuckin' beauty pageant where you can give a cross-eyed hummer to a flute and charm your way to second place. We already played let's-put-the-idiot-in-charge. How'd that work out, huh? So it ain't funny that we are actually having a serious discussion about someone who is caught off guard when asked for a newspaper she reads. It's not funny. Not when the top of her ticket is Old Geezer Grumpy McStrokeEye. So, no, Gwen, even if the economy was so good that everyone was knee deep in cash and pussy or cock, even if Osama bin Laden told all his people to go back to goat fucking and then killed himself, even if all of a sudden we discovered we could all power our cars cleanly with pig shit, even if the streets were paved with gold, Gwen, this fuckin' idiot, who couldn't discuss a foreign policy even though her soldier son's life depends on it and who couldn't even name the Exxon Valdez case, fer chrissake, oughta be arrested if she sets foot in Washington, DC," then the whole thing will be worthless.
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