Point: President Wayne Palmer is a tree-hugging, hippie pansy.
by Curly Bill Brocius
My name is Curly Bill Brocius, and I am appalled to be an American. I am so appalled because your President, Wayne Palmer, doesn't have the wontons to protect this country. In my opinion, he is a woman.
What's that? Being called a woman isn't really an insult anymore? Oh, well, how about this: Wayne Palmer is a tree-hugging, hippie pansy? That's okay? Swell.
Back in 1881, my cowboys would have strung up this coward and taken matters into our own hands. Like U.S. Grant and Robert E. Lee, we played for blood. This Palmer cur cannot even make a decision without using his emotions. Well, emotions are for women! You are supposed to be a man, Palmer! Act like one.
Hell, if I had surrounded myself with the likes of a weak-kneed blond woman, a borderline homosexual Chief of Staff, and an annoying, yappy sister, Wyatt Earp would have run us out of town much sooner. You may not be paying attention, but the A-rabs just destroyed a portion of California! Do you realize how many gold and silver mines were obliterated? For the good of the country, you must strike back with an iron fist. And if you won't do so, my cowboys and I are up to the challenge. Just say the word.
Of course, since you are yella, you won't send us a Western Union. Hopefully, that homosexual will betray you, and a man of honor will be named President in your stead. A man like Noah Daniels. There's just something I like about that fella. I just can't put my finger on it . . .