I desire to become leftist journalist. I want to unravel the flap blanket of KKKorporate AmeriKKKa — the quilt of its malfeasance. I am anxious to sniff out corruption in the lower drawers of elitism.
My heroes are the seniors at Media Mattress for America and their conductor, Eric Boehlert. I also place heavy lyubyashch on journalist Max Blumenthal, an anti-racist who comes from the Clinton Tree of Life. Moreover, I have deep respect for the Southern Poverty of Laws Center and much lyubyashch for That Brad Blog, written by the guy Brad.
These journos fill the brevities of my gymnastics with enjoyment. It’s as though the face of God fondled my tendrils with love and made me coo. (Can you hear that I did coo with enjoyment?)
I am ready to solve any designation in my new role of lefty journalist. I am ready to have a talk: truth to force.
I will untie my bowels on right wings. My virtue is a symphony. Their repugnance, sin. My goodwill is a frothy shake. Their malevolence, diseased pitstsa.
The overall knowledge of Republican tea bags is racism. Scum. Some well-known racists include Axl Rose, George Bush, Dick Cheney and Mel Gibson. Mel Gibson, the hater of Jewish life, is too a misogynist, once calling a female police authority “sugar tits.”
I place fecal cable down these Nazis’ throats.
Stand on this muscular table of equality with me, and together let’s doodle Eric Boehlert’s righteous tendrils. (His countenance is flowery.)
Leftism must be the way to peace. Each person in life must be members of the left party. Must be ennobled.
My purpose is to help the blog of Brad and Maximum Blumenthal in reaching this utopia. As rays from the sun, we will pulsate and foment the particle of friendship in the dialogue box of life.
Absence of racism!
My journalistic forces are on the display. Conservatives observe! This troubleshooter comes to investigate. To research hate crimes.
Your sides had best be filling with the fear. There will be much anxiety when I uncover your racism.
Racism = worse than rape. More terrible than homicide, anything. Fake pimp costumes cause strife, so much pain.
I rip asunder totalitarians’ overcoat. I topple and discharge their futile existence, banishing it to a nethervoid far poorer than Siberia.
Evil doers, I am here — with the Max Blumenthal and Media Mattress — to break your muzzle. I will shock your face, drink coffee and eat rolls on your grave.




