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Dear Sarah Palin

Dear Sarah Palin:

Let’s face it. You’re not that hot. It’s all perspective. Sure, in a shotgun to my head game of Fuck, Marry, Kill with you, Libby Dole, and Diane Feinstein, I’d be throwing it in you faster than you could say “Caribou.” Compared to the rest of the population, though, you’re pretty average.

If only Olympia Snowe were younger…

she’d be the VPILF, and you’d still be eating Mooseburgers with the First Dude.

Anyway, enough about my dick.

I know your first debate is coming up, and you’ve had a hard time lately, every time you open your mouth. First, there was the clip where Katie Couric asked you a question about the economy, and your response, where you just started grabbing every word that had something to do with the economy out of the air, like magnetic poetry pieces falling from the refrigerator and shattering on the kitchen floor.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m sure McCain bitched your ass out good Sunday morning after you made him look like a total dipshit on the TAY-VAY.

I understand. McCain can be a real cocksucker before he has his glass of Ensure.

But now, we hear that there’s more to Couricgate, and it’s getting worse. When old Katie (who I could’t ever take serious after I knew what the inside of her colon looked like) asked you to discuss Supreme court cases, you said Roe v. Wade, then went silent.

Whoever the fuck is coaching you, it ain’t working. That’s where I can help. Murray’s about to tell you everything you need to know for the debate.

Let’s break it down, and relate it to some shit that you can hopefully remember. Your kids. We’re gonna assign different aspects of governing the whole USA to each of your five kids, Trigg, Track, Alternator, Snowplow, Brick, whatever the fuck their names are.

The economy = Baby Trigg The economy is exactly like your retarded baby. The economy has been eating, shitting its pants, and puking all over the place. And no matter what you do, it’s still going to be retarded. So all you can do is follow it around and smell its diaper. Just picture yourself sniffing Ben Bernanke and Hank Paulson’s asses, and you’ll know as much about the economy as our current President.

The war in Iraq = your soldier boy Track Much like naming your son Track, it’s one of the dumbest things this country has even gotten itself into. You know how you made Track join the Army so he couldn’t knock up some Eskimo girl? That’s how we got into Iraq. Bush was all “oh noooes. Iran and Al Qaeda are coming at Iraq with the double-ended dong. We gotta stop that shit!” And, five years later, we’re still stuck there guarding Iraq’s sweet little pussy.

Welfare = your knocked up daughter, Bristol Just when you thought Bristol was gonna get a job, and get outta your damned house, she shits out a pup. Now, she’s going to be stuck around the governor’s mansion another five years, eating your moose burgers and stealing from your purse. Now picture all the black and brown people of the planet doing that, and you have the official Republican Party platform.

Atheists and Homosexuals (aka the Democrats) – your other daughter, Willow Seriously, you named your daughter after a lesbian witch on Buffy. You don’t know which way Willow is going to go yet. She could already be working on getting knocked up out of God-fearing wedlock, like Bristol, or she could still enter the convent. ALL YOU NEED TO DO is beat the everloving shit out of her with a Bible. It works like that on gay people, too. If you don’t believe me, just ask Ted Haggard.

Education = your daughter Piper There’s still some hope for Piper. All she needs to do is spend enough time around Bristol’s “fuckin redneck” boyfriend, and you’ll scare that child into reading a motherfuckin book. If you don’t do something quick, though, you can just forget all about that shit. Piper will be the last best hope. Which probably means that she’ll end up a broke, lesbian, welfare mama, who wants to join the Army.

I hope this helps in your preparations. Fuck only knows you couldn’t possibly sound like more of an idiot than you did last week.

Now leave me the fuck alone.

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Dear Murray

Dear Murray a tasty, tasty bitch beloved and feared by hordes of basement-dwelling illiterati and their fierce antagonists, the Grammar Nazis. He single-handedly turned the webcam whorefest of Myspace into a lively commerce of ideas, including whether or not the TUBGIRL photo will ever be topped as a postmodern expression of the inexpressible. According to web historians, he has inspired more photoshop projects and syphilis jokes than Britney Spears (who he has been repeatedly linked romantically to). He is also rumoured to be the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby, a disciple of Cliff Yablonski, and the second gunman on the grassy knoll. Although he could not be reached for comment, he reportedly resides in or near the tent cities along the LA River Basin, third right after the walrus sunning station.

He has vehemently denied all charges that he is any any way responsible for that rash your wife claims "is from the heat".

His primary function is doling out advice; the inspiration sprang from an endless and eventually dull repetition of fucktards failed to heed his words.

A secondary result is a dysfunctional family "round table" of people who contribute innumerable one-liners and personal experiences, rarely related in any way to the actual question.

It is estimated that tens of thousands of readers have "LOL'd" approximately 5,395,645,694,167,467,105 times, with the toll expected to rise.

He is immune to kryptonite, chlamydia, and brainwashing.

Wikipedia has banned PENCILTITS's entry, debating the relevance of his tasty bitchiness.