simply put, it is to be photographed in the presence of a cetain fly-riddled presidential candidate....
in today's thread, we're going to focus on the seemingly astronomical odds of so many people who know shit (well, knew shit, as they don't know shit anymore, having been murdered and all), about the Clit-on Machine, as it's called, winding up dead in a variety of strange, violent ways....
i'll start with this poor fukstick, named vince.....
fine lookin' fella, seen here with this hottie he used to bang:
ok, well, she's not so hot, but appears to be rollin' her ass off on ecstacy or hi as a kite on blo given the extremely dialated pupils.....
but hey!!!! this isn't a thread about the Clit-on's rampant drug use, it's about all the dead people who used to be close to the Clit-ons.....
well, ol vince committed suicide according to the official story.... but somehow, after killing himself, he went "The Walking Dead" and walked, post-mortem, from whereever he allegedly killed himself to the spot near an old civil war cannon where his body was later found.....
poor guy.....
this bitch will have you killed:
00
someone said in the Bible (and believe me, if you've seen a few other threads of mine, you know my Bible doesn't -- how does the phrase go? -- "have dust on it" -- meaning it's dusty because u never open it -- no there's no "dusty Bible" in my house as to my knowledge, there's no Bible at all.... something cannot be dusty if it doesn't exist.... but I digress, the point being I'm no Bible thumper)... mentioned that in the Good Book it reveals that a person attacts flies when they lie/kill/whatever.....
guess that explains why those pesky "bomber" flies were attacking ol killin' hiLIARy at the debate....
On to Mary Mahoney, the lesbian intern.... oh fuk it... who cares who these criminals had killed, if you wanna read about em, (the victims that, its, or watch them, they're all over f'n youtube and that thing al gore invented called the f'n internet.....)... I've got a f'n hearing I gotta prepare for....
hey JJ, you f'n prick.... send me a P.M., you pussy, and I'll send you my cell phone number, and I'll call you from the f'n court room and have the judge say hello to "my sickly degenerate gambling loser friend, Michael Jack Corbin"..... who, I should note, will -- if he dogdes me like last time I was in Sin City -- will wind up like a person in a Clit-on photograph... committing suicide and then hurling himself, while dead, off the f'n Hoover damn......