Mental Illness Theater

I’m very, VERY busy alphabetizing my dryer lint in order of who has the cutest boyfriend tonight, so I’ll be understandably unable to watch Derp Fuhrer waddle through the indignities of end-stage syphilis as his collective stink of ineptitude, racism and borschtburders wafts across the House chamber like the frothy spittle of married siblings pulled from their confederate bedsheets and forced to think about gays eating cake in the harsh light of day.

But have fun holding down your dinner if for some reason you find value in sitting through the STFU. Or however you spell it.