Pat Robertson Is Not My Kind Of Funny

I’ve watched Pat on TV. He says little jokes with a George Bush laugh, that “eh eh eh”, eyes hidden by a low brow. We all love a dirty joke. We love to be offensive, that is why jokes work so well. Some people can’t take a joke, and to this we generally reply, “Well, fuck you, Smedley”.

But sometimes…sometimes a joke can go too far. There are jokes so jacked off that no one thinks are funny, the kind that even makes friends go “ouch”. The kind of joke that silences a room. This is Pat’s specialty. He says that the blizzard conditions in the Northeast are God’s way of slowing down gay behavior a day or two. They will have to wait to blow another man and stop women from licking each others’ labia. After the blizzard, they may resume their homoerotic escapades.

“Eh-eh eh”, says Pat. Some woman with a pink beehive on her head and fingernails the size of pencils agrees.

I want to know what gets Pat Robertson off. Does he apologize while furiously masturbating with anointed oil? Does he actually have congress with that painted lizard next to him? Is he into little boys-after all, they are for pleasure?

These are all deviant acts. Maybe Pat is pissed because there is another storm system that is going to crap all over his beloved Virginia. Now he has to wait to pray with the rosary wrapped around his balls while an altar boy tongues his bung. Everyone should know about Pat’s sex life, because he does a whole lot of talking about others.

Pat is clearly uninformed about weather patterns. There’s a weather phenomenon called a “nor’easter”. I have no idea why this word is concatenated this way, but it is short for “northeaster”. It is a powerful storm that happens almost every year and it dumps amazing amounts of precipitation on the northeastern seaboard. It is highly unlikely that God chose this particular common phenomenon to steep homosexuals in traffic. This is the type of storm that keeps straights in traffic as well. Why does God hurt his chosen so? Now Pat, there is every possibility that the fags are traveling together, and a traffic stop is a great time for some serious road head after the three-pointers zip off. This is not an effective way to stop gayness, and one thing I know is that you worship a smart God. This plan is the work of a rather stupid lesser angel, I hope.

Dear Pat: I hope you are aware that the devil has plans for you, my friend. I believe you will find yourself amongst the wrathful, drowning and clawing your way out of the Styx but never succeeding. Charon’s oar will smack you back into the slime. I’m going to take the high road on this, for I certainly believe you should be violated by a barbed, diseased 11-incher for 12,000 years straight. But that is not my style. I’m trying to keep this blog classy, and even the mention of you is taking my credibility down a notch. But I sincerely hope that Pat understands that it is not nice to say that he hopes millions of people get stuck in airports and cars because of who they go to bed with.

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