I don’t want anyone to die. What a horrible thing to wish upon another human being. 

But, I can’t help but notice that since president Puss-sore has been sent to the hospital with the Covid, my feed has been filled with some disgusting people with either a very morbid sense of humor, or a genuine disregard for human life. 
Remember…. for those wishing for Donnie to die, you are wishing that a 14
year old boy bury his father and live the rest of his days without his Patter familius’ help and advice!  

If youve never buried a parent, I am genuinely filled with warmth and sunshine for you— 
but the day you lay your mother or father to rest,  you will realize that Having a parent die is like 1000 acid trips in one, ripping off the top of your skull and filling your head with the revelation that we are all like little specks of dust in an infinite universe

you will realize the bitter pain and agony of it at all— like a redwood tree splintering into a million baseball bats and pounding you in the head, all the while screaming, yes indeed, you are alone. We are all alone. And then when you feel you couldn’t be more alone, a magical chaos unicorn wanders up to you, and sprinkles pixie dust in the hole in your head. That’s what it’s like having a parent die.

How do I know? Both of my parents are still alive. 

I’ve been taking copious amounts of LSD over the past three days, and the aforementioned unicorn has been chasing me through the woods. When I finally gave up and fell to my knees and saw that they were bleeding, me and the unicorn, who’s name was Jim, had a pretty intense conversation.
Society and mass media have trained us to conform, and step in line with their agenda. 
He told me that his parents had just died when being forced in to gladiatorial combat by the intergalactic space maggots. According to Jim, the experience brought him to the realization that he was a heartless prick for having wished harm upon President Sphincter-lips. 

That said, I don’t adhere to all of the teachings of Jim the unicorn— and we need to think long and hard about who President Donnie is before we simply conclude that his life matters. These pricks after all are the same low-key coma patients who run around screaming all-lives matter. Well do they? 
Do they punk?

The world is a wonderful place, and every life a precious seedling with the potential to blossom like a flower. But President Cheeto Dick is seventy something years old… And now that he has been let out from Walter Reed Hospital, let’s assess that potential by reflecting upon his past accomplishments.

Born rich
went to a military academy
claimed bone spurs, and started breaking into the women’s dormitory while moving on them like a bitch

became his own publicist 
Told black renters to fuck off. 
pretended he was a financial guru…. 
sucked off Hollywood for cameos 
campaigned by demonizing immigrants.
Built concentration camps. 
Hitler thought it was awesome.

He filled the swamp
He gave massive tax breaks to the rich.
He hates the affordable care act.
He likes getting Peed on.

Applauded neonazis in Charlottesville 
He cut billions from Social Security 
Has 26 credible allegations against him of rape.
He fucks America’s veterans in the ass.
He had sex with Kim Jong Un.
Told us Covid was a hoax
Shut down post offices so no one can vote
Inspired hate crimes
Told the Proudboys they’re awesome
Personally killed 210 thousand people
And generally is an all around piece of shit. I could go on, but that seems like a pretty good overview.

So, I’m just going to go out on a limb and say it. I hope President Blumpkin does die of the covid— 
. I hope he, along with every other president, senator and congressman and douche in government dies… but not before they all suffer long and debilitating bouts of genital warts, and pussing infections on their scrotums, nipples and taints.

I hope their sons and daughters die horrible, painful, excruciating deaths while taking a shit in a porta potty at a construction site, which is plowed over by a runaway tractor trailer truck which blows the Porta potty into bits.. plastic… sanitizer, feces flung into the air, while your loved ones skull is pulverized…  their vital organs crushed and their eyeballs popped like maraschino cherries… 

I hope they have their fingernails pulled out by Russian mobsters, who stick hot nails down their dicks. 
I hope they are kidnapped by the angry rapists with chainsaws from pulp fiction, and John Wayne Gacy shows up to their friends’ birthday parties in his clown suit.
I hope they are stuffed into industrial sized woodchippers, and Steve buscemi eats them for breakfast at Waffle House.
I hope that the line cook out back grabs them on their way to the bathroom and throws them on the big fucking pancake griddle and burns off their ballsacks.
I hope they are all stuffed into KFC deep fryers and get sold to customers as moist delicious chicken.
I hope that Tiger King gets let out of jail so he can feed them to the Tigers.
I hope Kyle Rittenhouse gets out too so he can shoot ‘em all in the dicks.
I hope that Charlie Manson comes back from the dead so he can dose them with acid while he cuts their legs off and smacks them in the face with their own severed bootlicking boots. Naturally, they are tripping balls— so as they face the finality of death, they will die licking those motherfucking boots, as all fucking bootlickers should.

So how do I feel about President Blumpkin’s 14-year-old son? That asshole didn’t even send me a Birthday card. Fuck that kid. Fuck all of Donnie’s kids.

Fuck Donnie, Don junior, Eric and Joe Biden. I hope that Satan fucks them all and all the dead klansmen in hell beat them with their own dicks.

Fuck Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer. 

Commune with Jim the Unicorn and peer into the darkness of your soul. 

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