I have the keen ability to spot a bullshitter, and it’s not something that requires an undergraduate degree. It is not even something that requires a graduate degree. Shit, it doesn’t require a Ph.d, or even a fucking high school diploma. You know how you can spot a bullshitter? You can spot a bullshitter by the use of one word, and that word is “I”. “I built that”, “I pulled myself up from my bootstraps.” “I solved the problem.” “I, alone, can fix it.” Now, I have nothing against a bullshiter. We all have put some kind of bullshit on our resumes. We all have the told that certain someone what they want to hear when we wanted to get in their pants. A really good bullshitter doesn’t have to pop a tic tac to grab some pussy. A real good bullshitter can’t just get by on just their words. They have to have a grandiose sense of confidence. Have you ever bought a used car? You pull up to the dealership, and you see a car. You look at that car and the paint looks great. You ask the dealer about the particulars, and you want it. That son of a bitch lays it on so thick that–when you take the car on a test drive you overlook the noises that can be heard under the hood. You overlook the dry rotted tires, and you are overwhelmed with a trusted feeling you have with the dealer. Even if everything in your being is telling you not to buy it–you resist. And when you take the car home–and it starts to fall apart–you come away with the realization that you got fucked. The paint starts to peel on your first car wash. The air slowly exits the dry rotted tires. The battery dies. The car leaves you stranded, and you’re left getting fucked hard up the ass. You can’t return it, because it was sold “as is”. You can’t sell it without loosing money. If you put money into fixing it, it will be worth less than you put in to it, and I think that’s what the presidential election of 2016 turned out to be. Millions of people chose to buy a piece of shit car from a piece of shit salesman.
It basically comes down to these two choices; buying a car from a reputibal four star dealer, or buying a car from Trump Cunt Used Car Sales. Now, I know mother fuckers are going to get all offended by the word “cunt”, and these are the same mother fuckers that hate this country so fucking much that they actually thought the safest choice was to vote for the most vile, racist, sexist, masochistic. Fucking.candidate.ever.in.my.life.
Let’s put it this way, when Obama got the keys to the car he bought–it was sitting on blocks with the tires missing. The interior was stripped, the engine was missing and it was on fire. Slowly but surely he did the bodywork, slapped some paint on it, replaced all the glass. Put on a nice pair of rims, and even installed a CB radio for all the redneck fuckers to communicate with their other redneck buddies. It took eight years, but it was one bitching ride. But some cunty, orange faced dickwad came over wanting to buy it. He looked at this car, and told the owner that it was a bigly piece of shit. It was the bigliest piece of shit he ever saw. It was a disaster. Most people would walk away from this deal, but most people aren’t cunts. A cunt is someone who buys a car, tells the seller that he will take care of his baby, only to part the car out piece by piece, part by part, bumper to bumper. And in the end, there will never be a trace of that really nice car. Now, I wish the election was that simple, because if I bought that car I would cherish it. I would appreciate it. I would remember how long it took to restore it. I would remember what it looked like when I bought it, but there are junk men around us. See, junk dealers don’t care about how nice your car is. Their bottom line is to pay the least amount and get the most amount of money.
The next few months are going to be filled with cunts and douchebags arguing on what to do with the car, and I don’t give a shit. You can blow it up, sell it to Russia, or give it to your other billionaire buddies. You can do whatever you want, but in the end you’re still going to be a cunt. And so are all those people who helped you buy it. So, not to be bling,…go fuck yourself and I hope your car dies and leaves you stranded.