Let’s discuss the notion of flip flops in the White House and what they mean to society that demands better government and responsibility.
This isn’t another story about Karl Rove outting CIA Agent Valerie Plame. We find that story so… 2004.
Nay, this is about foot attire, and why we should be snobs about just what those feet are clad in when they cross the threshold into our nation’s most prestigious home. For it is persniferous of our great and vast culture to look past this encroachment upon our civil order with the uncouth exposed toes of the common tramp and tourist.
Holy shit, I think I was channeling Queen Elizabeth of Great Britain! Someone should order His Majesty’s Royal Marines to hurl these hooligans off the property at once.
That would be an indictment of character: George Bush is a fucking snob. The cowboy with a sarcastic smile is showing his roots as a Connecticut priss and elitist schmuck. What a fucking hypocrite: Mah new cowboy boots that I shoveled sheeyit in Texas wit shore duz look good in this here Oval Office, y’all. Hey you… get dem durned flippity floppers outta mah office!
Working three jobs is cleared for take-off as the new “uniquely American,” flashing your tits on camera in the East Room is so… white trash (but thanks for voting for us, you redneck hillbillies who love NASCAR). What the fuck is there to say except… “show us your feet, and fetch me a beer, woman!”
Oops, got a little carried away there, we don’t want to encourage anything like that. Even if you did want to take tourist photos of yourself in the State Dining Room with your dick or nipple hanging out and a shit-eating grin under blanked out faces and send it to us via email, there’s no way we would be able to run it as our headline and send it over to Wonkette…
Because you’d probably forget to use your camera phone…
But hey, we were talking about flip flops in the White House for fuck’s sake, so go ahead and get angry about people who desecrate those hallowed halls in their improperly clad feet. And ignore the Dick and Bush and all the other boobs floating around, because we’re sure you understand that there’s no disconnect between being a snob and a good ole boy at the same time. We know you’d like to drink a beer and hang out with them the same time you’re getting drilled up the ass by big business, because between us… we’ve heard it’s pretty much always free beer wherever you go and sign up to get drilled up the ass.
So please… for the sake of your country, and your love of God, remember this: we attest there are no flip flops in the White House, nor have there ever been; Bush is royalty, and you like drinking beer with Bush and having him drill you up the ass, even though he doesn’t drink beer or buy any for you. And Karl Rove is a figment of your imagination, he is not the
droid drudge you seek and exists on a plane of imaginary figures like unicorns and the Easter bunny.
Flip flops, people… what the hell?