Vice Presidential candidate JD Vance apologized to the nation for his wife, Usha, not being white. “But she’s a good mom,” the Eyeliner Boy added.
To say this is faint praise is absolutely an understatement. The possum rooting through your garbage as you read this is probably a good mom as well.
And Usha may be categorized as white. The people of Southwest Asia (or, as we used to call them, in the politically insensitive days of my youth, “Hindu Indians,” as opposed to “Regular Indians”) are generally regarded as Caucasian, by people who still insist that there are three subspecies of Homo sapiens.
But they are not Northern European white, which is what screwball white supremacists regard as the only right kind of white. Avowed race hater/baiter Nick Fuentes and others of his kind immediately attacked Vance for having an Indian wife. He was denounced for ‘race-mixing,” and bemoaned as being part of a plot by Indians to take over the US.
These people’s opinions should be taken no more notice of than a mound of caterpillar shit. But Senator Maybelline couldn’t help but try and appease them, fearing that the Nazi vote would be lost to the Republican ticket. The horror of home-grown fascists not turning up at the polls, and just saying to themselves, “Not going to vote for that guy with the brown wife. Just going to stay home and hate Jews all day, instead,” prompted Vance to apologize for the color of his wife’s skin.
This act of remarkable personal cowardice and the abject betrayal of his family was committed by a person who aspires to be one cheeseburger-clogged heartbeat away from the Presidency. Many were surprised by Vance displaying such a profound lack of guts, since he had already bravely confessed to fucking a couch in his youth.
All right, he didn’t. Confess, that is. Somebody just made that up and put it on the Internet. That doesn’t mean that Vance never banged a sofa. He just never wrote about it. What horny teenage boy hasn’t filled a glove with lube, stuck it between some sofa bolsters, and whaled away on it while looking at a stolen copy of Playboy propped up on the crook of his loved one’s arm?
Well, me for one. Not that I wasn’t once a teenage boy bursting with unrequited horniness, many years ago. I just grew up in a family of nine. Somebody was usually sitting on the couch.
So, it’s entirely possible Vance fucked a sofa crack. People have sex with all kinds of unusual objects. If you don’t believe me, ask anybody who ever worked in an emergency ward.
It’s just probably not a crack in the sofa he’s sleeping on now.
To say this is faint praise is absolutely an understatement. The possum rooting through your garbage as you read this is probably a good mom as well.
And Usha may be categorized as white. The people of Southwest Asia (or, as we used to call them, in the politically insensitive days of my youth, “Hindu Indians,” as opposed to “Regular Indians”) are generally regarded as Caucasian, by people who still insist that there are three subspecies of Homo sapiens.
But they are not Northern European white, which is what screwball white supremacists regard as the only right kind of white. Avowed race hater/baiter Nick Fuentes and others of his kind immediately attacked Vance for having an Indian wife. He was denounced for ‘race-mixing,” and bemoaned as being part of a plot by Indians to take over the US.
These people’s opinions should be taken no more notice of than a mound of caterpillar shit. But Senator Maybelline couldn’t help but try and appease them, fearing that the Nazi vote would be lost to the Republican ticket. The horror of home-grown fascists not turning up at the polls, and just saying to themselves, “Not going to vote for that guy with the brown wife. Just going to stay home and hate Jews all day, instead,” prompted Vance to apologize for the color of his wife’s skin.
This act of remarkable personal cowardice and the abject betrayal of his family was committed by a person who aspires to be one cheeseburger-clogged heartbeat away from the Presidency. Many were surprised by Vance displaying such a profound lack of guts, since he had already bravely confessed to fucking a couch in his youth.
All right, he didn’t. Confess, that is. Somebody just made that up and put it on the Internet. That doesn’t mean that Vance never banged a sofa. He just never wrote about it. What horny teenage boy hasn’t filled a glove with lube, stuck it between some sofa bolsters, and whaled away on it while looking at a stolen copy of Playboy propped up on the crook of his loved one’s arm?
Well, me for one. Not that I wasn’t once a teenage boy bursting with unrequited horniness, many years ago. I just grew up in a family of nine. Somebody was usually sitting on the couch.
So, it’s entirely possible Vance fucked a sofa crack. People have sex with all kinds of unusual objects. If you don’t believe me, ask anybody who ever worked in an emergency ward.
It’s just probably not a crack in the sofa he’s sleeping on now.
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