“Man! Fuck France, all you motherfuckers coordinated the attack anyway. Going golfing, just to let you know. Weber, expect a drone attack later, bitch.”
Oh, Mr. President, I wish I could come and sing you Happy Birthday. Well, you know, the two being reversed. Michelle won’t mind since she’s going around fucking everyone in the Senate and the Pentagon anyway. Are those two yours? Prolly not.
Don’t fret about the Hitler comparison; we all know that the first to cast the stone is the guilty one anyway. Maybe you could just pull a Larry David and show up in Paris tomorrow instead and say, “Where is everybody?….. Oh….. I feel like an idiot. I thought the meeting was today.”
Thanks for saving mine and my Captain’s asses in Africa. I know it’s a little belated, but better late than never! Couldn’t’ve made it outta there without you. That was a fun plane ride, except for, you know, with us being Manchurian candidates and everything. I know that was outta your hands — goddamn Morgans….. But….. U no id rather b luvin then killinz. 😉