by Richard M. Nixon
It's only February, but already spring is in the air. Each day brings with it a few more minutes of sunshine, while God's creatures great and small emerge from their long winter slumbers to fornicate. If I sound uncharacteristically womanly, it's because Nixon is positively tickled pink at the sight of greedy, shiftless union drones pleading for their rights at the Wisconsin State Capitol. My jowls haven't been this flush with color since I accidently walked in on Kissenger changing for the White House Correspondents Dinner! Governor Walker has those union bastards right where he wants them, and he'll get more than he ever dreamed if he has the balls to see this standoff through to the end.
It's only February, but already spring is in the air. Each day brings with it a few more minutes of sunshine, while God's creatures great and small emerge from their long winter slumbers to fornicate. If I sound uncharacteristically womanly, it's because Nixon is positively tickled pink at the sight of greedy, shiftless union drones pleading for their rights at the Wisconsin State Capitol. My jowls haven't been this flush with color since I accidently walked in on Kissenger changing for the White House Correspondents Dinner! Governor Walker has those union bastards right where he wants them, and he'll get more than he ever dreamed if he has the balls to see this standoff through to the end.
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