Post by Bobby Cairo on Dec 25, 2015 10:38:05 GMT -5
"Heaven-sent (or, 'The Art of the Five-Minute Promo')"
"And so, ZMAC, I heard you baying at the moon. Some real ominous sounding shit. Like them Hounds of Hades. I seen the smoke billowing from your eyeballz, nostrils, every cavern of that ruderous mug of yours, lookin' like some kinda plumes from a family outing at Chernobyl. Ronald Raygun years. Eighties shit. You was, in uh, full meltdown mode from what I seen. Seen ya beggin' the GawdFadduh for some sign of life. An interpersonal connection, yah? That's wut you craved? Yah, yah, yah. I heard ya, gurl-fren. It's just that your words carry less weight to me than your actions. Dem ACK-SHUNS speak volumes. Gnawutimean?
"I've had a lot on my mind as of late. We live and we love and this is the time of year for both, as well as honoring the birth of my comrade in arms, the James Willis Hey-Zeus, Lord and Save-ya of your Punk-Azz, ZMAC. Your Punked-out Junkie BATTUM_CAHD_JAWBIN Azz, az it were. Back 2 Dem ACK-SHUNZ doe. Two weeks ago... two weeks ago, you did what? Ya huffed and ya puffed on your Huffy stuff, that lil girls Mongoose racing bicycle that you had jacked from your neighborhood pawn shop. All them pink glittery tassles and streamers carried by the wind on a summery winter's day in Colored-Radish, my adopted home state. You rolled up on a Robert Cairo's crib... dat crib dat be nestled in a Radioactive Kinda Rocky Mountain HIgh, that way of bein' that you know all too well.
"You had a lil surprise for a Fadduh of Gawd on such a blissful and sun-shinin' day. And you did what? Well ya conked a BobRobert with a Big Boot, tried to end me with that Boot PAHTEE. I wuddn't havin' no part o' dat, doe. I could've ended ya right then and there on some retaliatory AWW KYY ROWWWW kinda spit, but I didna. I didna because I had bigger plans in store, plans to roast and toast ya on Jam Willy's B-Day weekend at the biggest and baddest spectacle in dis here sport of pro-SMASH-a-Null rasslin.
"Now, you might understand and appreciate that I truly did not even object to your intrusion on my homestead, sir, your HIGH-ANUS attempt to desecrate my humble abode. It did not bother me because I welcome intruders. I well-CUM them, indeed. See, I think if you have a message that you must deliver to a Robert Bobson, then I am all to eager to receive it. But see that return postage, ZMAC? DAS DA REAL MUDDA FUKKA, YO!"
/AWWWWWW KYYYYYYY REEEEEEEWWWWWWW OUTTTTTTA NOOOOOOO WAH!!!!!!!.EXE
The point of emphasis had been driven right into Hitlery Klingon's braindrainium via picture perfect R-CAIRO from that GawdBobbuh of Professional Smashlin'. Hitlery's form face-planted upon the patio of her five-STAH hotel suite/ Her rumpled pant suit flapped in the cool nocturnal breeze, such as them mayonaisse stained vagina flaps between her legs had expounded the juices of so much Tease-n-Please from the UBERTHICK.
She was done. Hitlery would not be delivering anyMOAR stump speeches, would not be marching back toward the White House that she had once occupied as First Poon in Cheap. Who needed the White House once ya had arrived at dem Pearly White Gates? Heaven-sent by a most unholy THICK, on the eve of James Willis' birth and Zombie Mack's death. So it was written... PRAIZE JEE-BUS
