Liberace sporting backward Minnesota-shaped sideburns in 1968.
According to Hollywood Babylon (Perhaps the greatest source of fake media), the man mononymously known as Liberace, the flashy pianist, and not the inferior aerosol air freshener from K-Mart®, had a great fear of getting wet while wearing clothes. It was not uncommon for someone born in West Allis, Wisconsin, a suburb outside of Milwaukee. Those out of nowhere summer storms have been known to traumatize and paralyze young souls.
The true reason for the closed casket is because this was Trump’s dying face and the funeral director could not help but pummel it beyond recognition. Image Source.
Yesterday I proposed an imaginary scenario where current president of the United States himself dictator wannabe, Donald “Roger Doltrey Of The Who: The Current Waning Line-up” Trump died, and who would attend his measly funeral. I would like to take this time to continue with my discourse. Without imposing sympathy on this vile being, it would surely be the saddest event of all time. Indeed, sad.
While the sensible citizens of the United States mourn the passing of John McCain, one uninvited current president of the United States himself dictator wannabe, Donald “Douche Pocket” Trump lambasts the infrastructure of what makes America the land of freedom.
I don’t like to be a petty person, but I look forward to seeing Trump’s funeral. I can’t wait to see the tumbleweeds rambling past all the weasels in attendance, probably ten or eleven of them. I know what I’ll be doing. I will be tweeting about how childish and racist this asswipe behaved in his time in the White House.
So Russia, if you’re listening, release the pee tapes. I want to post it on the day of his death to remind people of his constant indecency.
Suburban life is like a dog’s life, sometimes you get fleas, and you can always get a flea collar. Image Source.
According to the neighbors, Richard Walk’s lawn was unacceptable and unsightly, in short, too ugly and not living up to the standards of Pleasant Hills. The message came in the form of a yellow Post-It Note™ on the front door; it read: Cut your lawn or MOVE! Richard Walk was forewarned about the petty passive/aggressive nature of this suburb. Like most ignorant people, he laughed it off without considering the consequences.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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