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Sarah, Sarah, Sarah,
I thought we were compadres. I thought we were pals. I thought we had an understanding. You don’t make a fuss about Me using the Gawd-O-Prompter 1.0 and I won’t tell the full story about your retard unfortunate child. But you didn’t stick to your promise. You, in effect, broke a covenant with Gawd. Do you have any idea what happens to people who do that? They lose their car keys! They sometimes have flat tires! At some point in their lives, lightening will strike within a three-mile radius! The full-on Job treatment! Chaos! Ruin! Dogs and cats living together! Mass hysteria!
Don’t imagine that, just because I’m in semi-retirement, I won’t open up a can of Old Testament Whoop Ass™ on you. Don’t imagine that, just because I and My favorite son are admirers of the Teabagger movement, I won’t make your life a living Abilene, TX and sentence you to an eternity on a US Airways flight. Believe Me, the Philistines didn’t call Me “that vindictive bastard” for nothing. Just ask the dinosaurs, (and, by the way, don’t believe any anti-flood propoganda you hear about them).
My point, Sarah, is – “You don’t mess with Me and I won’t send a couple of she-bears around to rough you up.”
Now that we’ve gotten all the unpleasantness out of the way, how’s your new job treating you? Number One Son, Republican Jesus, tells Me that if you want to get to the top there, your best bet is to shout, shout and shout again. I should keep that in mind if I were you.
I’m going to cut this short, Sarah. Not just because it’s a strain to pretend I care about your, (or anyone’s), life, but also because the limo is pulling up to My hotel. Just remember My threat suggestion and things should go as well for you and yours as anyone else, statistically speaking.
Wish You Were Here,