Tweeting with Duncan/Strandlof/King/Douchenozzel McFakerstein
WARNING: Graphic language alert.
Been pissed all day that pack a day smoker of manpole, Rick Duncan has once again resurfaced. First it was his horseshit blog, with all it’s “Woe is me glory.”
So here I sit – in this Starbucks, in this city, in this life.
So here I sit – homeless, unemployed, mentally ill, addicted, reputation ruined by my own misdeeds.
So here I sit – and I am grateful to God for ALL of that. Sometimes.
When I am not grateful for ALL of that, I try to ask for the capacity to be grateful for ALL of that. Sometimes.
Yeah, well here I sit watching you fucking brutally murder the English language, literary elegance, and any propriety with regards to divinity. You write worse than Peter King, which is a transcendant compliment if you wanted to be the worst fucking author in the history of terrible fucking authors.
Then I find this assholes Twitter page. Bear in mind that this is a homeless grifter who screwed over every one of our brothers and sisters in arms who actually *were* wounded, and then explain to me why this rectal emission has the capability to Tweet every 3 minutes. I sincerely hope that every one of his followers is some asshole like me only watching it waiting for him to inevitably embrace a new identity and screw over a new group.
Then, to make it all the more vexxing, he answers my Tweets in some sort of manner that makes a shit hurling marmoset at the Bronx Zoo look erudite.
OK, so is this someone else using his Twitter, am I just talking to a fahkin moron, are the voices in his Tweet Deck getting to be too much for him? Just WTF?
Category: Politics
Normally I’d pick door number 3 and say it sounded like an ELIZA program set to spam the Twitter ‘tubes, but being Monday I’m going to go with “voices in his Tweet Deck”.
TSO enjoyed that far too much. Here’s the play-by-play. Whack! Oh what a shot! He’s down. TSO steps back as Dick struggles to his feet. Whack! Oh! How could not have seen that coming? TSO is standing over him. The ref is pointing TSO back to a neutral corner, buying Dick time. The ref starts his count…1-2-3-4-5…Dick is using the ropes to pull himself up…6-7-8-9… He’s up! TSO wastes no time and delivers a wicked combination. Whack!Whack!…Dick’s eyes roll up in his head as it bounces off the canvas! He’s bleeding from both nostrils! His mouthpiece is in the 8th or 9th row! Ding…Ding…Ding…Ding…
“Seriously.”
“I know, right?”
“Excellent.”
Why yes, I do have recent experience in translating written “English” from junior soldiers.