Fred Thompson (Son of Used Car Salesman) is an Obese Buffoon. A Smug Pumpkin of a man. His Head Empty as Stupid, if Stupid were a Second Rate Actor with Age Spots, and Burgeoning Memory Loss.
Safe in his Sacrosanct Perch HIGH Up. On. Mount Twitter, Fred Thompson reigns down upon the World with Glib Humdingery, and a Turnip Truck Conservatism Hell-Spawned from his Geriatric Medicine Cabinet.
One can almost Hear the Insipid traveling Hyper-Speed across his Infinite Platitude Laden Incuriousness.
Ah, yes, Freddy Thompson. Good Old Fredward W. Thompson (I don’t think his middle initial is “W,” but it should be).
Freddy, Freddy, Freddy, Freddy, Freddy.
Is it ironic to Fill Empty Space with Empty Space?
Fred Thompson- the 27th Incarnation of Ronnie “Ron” “Ronald” “Ronaldo” Raygun.
Christ, every Fucking Dipshit Wingnut in the Universe claims to be the “Second Coming.”
However, I must admit, Freddy Boy does have a case better than most (Let’s take a closer look)-
Shitty Actor (√)
Cliché, and Clever in Lieu of any real Intellectual Depth (√)
Memory Problems (Huh? No, we don’t want any insurance)
Claims to be a “Big Picture Kind of Dude” to deflect attention away from fact he has Poor Eyesight as well as Limited Intellectual Functioning (Pass the Jumbo Blocks)
Phony, Down Home “Common Sense” Appeal (Dern Tootin’)
Old as really, really, really, Very Old Dirt (√)
Enjoys cheese from Jars, and Cans (Cheeze-a-Licious)
“Tough Guy” image that’s more “Fantasy Football” than “Gridiron Warrior” (Gip, Gip, GOO-RAY!)
Giant, HUGE, Bulbous, Empty Head (tIn nach!)
Birdbrain wife (Cheep, Cheap, Chirp)
Lazy (Did I already say that? If not, dude is Fucking LAZY).
Fond of Buffet Style Restaurants where food tastes like Water (Waiter, Check, Please)
Umpffffffttt. ‘Scuse me.
Hmmm. As I said, he does make an interesting case.
But I’m not convinced. I mean, A Lot of people are Lazy Shit for Brains. That Doesn’t make them Presidential Material.
Well, even if it does, I’m not buying Sir Napsalot as the new demi-god of ->
Not just yet.
I know. He is in possession of many of the Bone-A-Fides, but we’re talking about Ronald Reginald Sgt. York O’ Reilly Reagan here, not Newt Gingrich or some other Second Rate Cunt for Hire.
This is the Real Mc Coy, people.
The Mantle cannot be passed along without a Great Deal of Deliberation. We’ll have to have a meeting, and then a Conference, and then another Meeting about the Conference, and then yet another Conference (Except this time a Teleconference), and, uh, we’ll need to Pray. Oh, Holy Fuck, will we ever need to Pray. Might even have to Fast For a Few hours. Self-Flagellation may be involved, as well. I mean, you never know with these kind of things.
And even after all that work, we still won’t be close to the Finnish. Not Remotely. (Fuck, have you seen the “Quality of Life” Surveys?)
That’s it, but with more Lurch.
I know you yearn for a Savior, and nothing Screams “I’m Here” quite like a man 5-7 years away from Shady Acres Senior Citizen Recreational, and Residential Facility, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
We need to take a Deep Breath, count to 10 or 4 (depending on your personal preference and level of Brain Damage), Check Our Inventory, and have a Moment of Silence.
Everyone together now-
Or…a product of Incest
I am Utterly embarrassed, My Voyeuristic Lovelies.
After searching the depths of my Soul, Looking over the Data, and running a few Calculations, it seems I may owe Freddy McNappy Pants an apology.
It seems he Truly, Truly, Really (plus Sauce) is Re-Reanimated Ronnie “I Can’t Recall” Reagan.
I just hope he’s reading.
Oh, and that his Thyroid Medication hasn’t kicked in yet.