The Purple Pinup Guru Platform

When purple things are pulsating on your mind, I'm the one whose clock you want to clean. Aiding is Sparky, the Astral Plane Zen Pup Dog from his mountain stronghold on the Northernmost Island of the Happy Ninja Island chain, this blog will also act as a journal to my wacky antics at an entertainment company and the progress of my self published comic book, The Deposit Man which only appears when I damn well feel like it. Real Soon Now.

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Terri and the Pirates
Terri Schiavo

Get up you freakin' retard! GET UP OFF YOUR LAZY GODDAMN ASS AND FIGHT! Don't go all Million Dollar Baby on us. Can't you see that your goddamn freakin' husband is trying to murder you? Are going to let that philandering piece of shit spouse of yours get away with that?

Let's backtrack a little bit: First, he fired all your fucking physical therapists and told 'em to go take a flying fucking leap through a donut hole, cause they wanted you to do some calisthenics to get you in better shape for the Miss Mental Case of America pageant. Then he took your goddamn television set probably during an old Friends or Malcolm in the Middle rerun and smashed it to tiny bits, shut the curtains so you couldn't have any light in the room - in fact you probably haven't been outside to breathe fresh air for the PAST THREE YEARS. He's been quoted by two nurses who were interviewed on FOXNews about when is the bitch going to die, right within earshot of you and claimed that he was going to be a rich man as soon as you shift off this mortal coil- even after he has been winning every frivolous lawsuits against the hospitals you've been in and out of. You were the meal ticket- but it looks like that Cheating Mike has to go on with his life and YOU DON'T FIT IN THE PLANS, BABY!

And you are taking this laying down while he takes off to Fairy Tale pastures with his new Playboy Centerfold fuck buddy and her little beggers. Your parents are certainly not helping much. Georgie Girl W is clueless, he's finally come to the realization that he just can't go marching in like the little dictator that he thinks he is, contrary to popular belief what the red states say and just whisk you away out of that urine stinking soaked bed and hand you off to be breast fed by Tom DeLay and the rest of his Christian Coalition cronies like as if he were King Richard the Lionheart.

Nope, honey, the Supreme Court of this nation don't want nada to do with your constant lysol wiped up shit- so it's time to take matters into your own hands sweetheart and go all ape-shit vigilante on the system that bitches and whines about your welfare and makes you into nothing but a poster child for the neo-con sancity of life while poor twenty-year old schmucks fight in the name of Exxon over in the Middle-East.

I need to introduce you to this cat:

His name is the Leader and he's been out of circulation for a while, just like you. You'll find that you both have a lot in common: both your brains have been liquidified toast for some time.

I bet if you bang both your collective elongated heads together, you might come up with a plan to get that feeding tube shoved back down your neck soon enough. And then both of you can collaborate and plot and scheme to make conquest of the world that is according to the Conservative agenda.

Because it's fucking ludicrous.

And after you've copulated the Congress with both of your mutant combined prowess- you can then go and find your buddy Mike and his surrogate family and RIP HIS FUCKING BALLS OUT THROUGH HIS THROAT!!

I know you can do it. But you've got to help to help yourself- because the more illegal aliens that we deport out of this country - the less your bedpan is going to be spic and spaned. You've just got to believe in yourself. Because it's all in the mind- just simply use your telepathic powers like Jean Grey does and GET THINGS ACCOMPLISHED.


~ Coat


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