Sweet Chelsea, standing in the pouring rain. Drenched, yet makeup curiously unblemished.
Thumb presses down on the pause button on the Tivo remote control. Eyes pan (down of course) revealing...
Oh yes... black leather miniskirt mischievously covering the genetic gift (in the form of a prematurely plump trunk fulla'junk) from mom. Black leather mini in the middle of a torrential downpour to commemorate the opening of the Hilary Clinton 2008 Arkansas campaign headquarters by day / Bill Clinton after-hours brothel? Where’s Joan Rivers when you need her?
Thumb to rewind... pause... play... drink... rewind... pause... play...
Bill Clinton? That man soiled one of ours. I know she was the crippled fledgling antelope that the heard abandoned for self preservation... but she was still one of my minions. And thus, the ancient laws dictate that I must now have the seed of his loins. So yes, if there is a God (and I am of the opinion that there is; reference Krispy Kreme donuts), flash forward to a scene involving the Elder, a bottle of Johnny Blue, a humidor and sweet Chelsea. See if Egypt makes a movie about that?
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