Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Good morning and God Bless. ::clears throat::

Let me ask ya this, Imus in the Morn'. Did you catch the soccer game the other day? The ragheads Saudis played the Iraqi towelheads, and the towelheads won. I'm surprised they didn't celebrate by sending one of their own to the field with a Jew strapped to his back to blow themselves up, bejeez. Did you see that John Roberts has turned into Gerald Ford, Imus in the Morn'? They said he had a seizure - that he was foamin' at the mouth and turnin' ashy. Sounds like you when you wake up in the morn' you decaying lizard ya. Go hang yourself with your oxygen tubes, you deflated windbag ya, bejeez.

I happened to tune in to that hideous channel MSNBC the other night, Imus in the Morn', and pretty boy Dan Abrams had a picture of you stickin' your patchy tongue out in front of a screen full of crime statistics. Once he cleaned the crap out of his pants, he apologized for the incident, but no one's buyin' it, bejeez. The only crime he should be reportin' on is the one his own damn station pulled when they yanked your God forsaken show off the air, bejeez. And there's a story of a man in Shanghai who was electrocuted by his computer. You better watch out, buttface. One of these days, your microphone may find its way inside your ass courtesy of that Nazi newsman of yours, you misanthropic old monk ya, bejeez. It must be hot out in the desert, Imus in the Morn' - your face is really startin' to look like it's meltin', bejeez. But while you're havin' fun out there runnin' your little boarding school, the news is you're gettin' back on the air soon. I hope not, you two-legged turd ya. The only place you should be goin' is an early grave, bejeez.

Now bow your heads, you heathen bastards, and let's say a prayer. In the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost, the I-man goin' for a ride in a news chopper we want the most, Lord hear our prayer. Lord, we pray that Al Gore's son gets off the drugs, and unlike his father, doens't turn into a big fat lug, bejeez. Lord hear our prayer. Lord, we pray that Rubert Murdoch knocks the Bancrofts out of Wall Street, and that Shep and Sean stop suckin' on his teats. Lord hear our prayer. And finally, Lord, we pray that Star Jones needs surgery again, the nasty old hag, and the next time she leaves the hospital it's in a black body bag. Lord hear our prayer.

Which doesn't belong and why?!

a) Neocon newsman Rupert Murdoch
b) Real estate mogul Donald Trump
c) Morning dickhead Imus in the Morn'

Well I'm not waiting for you idiots to answer, when the answer is clearly a - neocon newsman Rupert Murdoch, because despite all these mouth-breathing pedophiles meeting their wives at the local kindergarten, Rupert Murdoch is the only one who can get sucky sucky for twenty dollah and be loved for long time, bejeez.

God bless us and save us.

Friday, July 27, 2007

Good morning and God Bless!

Well Imus in the Morn', the whole country's talkin' about it - this feline who goes around a nursing home, and crawling into beds before old folks are gonna take the dirt nap. You better watch out if you wake up with a cat in your bed, you jaw-locked lizard ya, bejeez.



And what's with this YouTube debate, Imus in the Morn'? The democrat dingbats are getting so desperate to see that they may have a snowball's chance in hell by stickin' a snowman up to ask "wassup?" I'll tell you what's up, you stiff pecker-necks, and it certainly isn't Bill Clinton's erection, bejeez. And speakin' of Clinton, the cleavage race is about to begin, what with Hillary tryin' to squeeze her fat ass into a scantilly-clad pantsuit. I have some advice for ol' tuna breath's opponents - why not get Gordo Richardson to get a low-cut shirt and give the flat-chested ho a run for her money, bejeez!

Have you seen the stock market in the last few days, Imus in the Morn'? It's droppin' faster than Mrs. Imus' knees did on your first date, you sinful heathen ya, bejeez. And speakin' of young girls goin' south on old dried up perverts, this whole "teen spirit" thing reached a new low with Lindsay Lohan turning into Paris Hilton. Throw all their asses in jail, bejeez, and throw away the damn key!

Now bow your heads, let's say a prayer.

In the name of the father, the son, and holy ghost, the I-man dead and gone we want the most. Lord hear our prayer. Lord, we pray for the dead battery of Cheney's pacemaker to leak, so that garlic-breath grandma can finally dispose of him in a creek, bejeez. Lord hear our prayer. And finally, Lord, we pray that John Edwards really does shut up, and goes back to lookin' at pictures of guys wearin' jockstrap cups, the dirty ol' faggot bejeez. Lord hear our prayer.

God bless us and save us!

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Good morning and God Bless. ::clears throat::

Well happy hump day, Imus in the Morn'.

Did you see another one of these drugged-up dopeheads was taken out of the bicycle race? There's a picture of him out the web being led away by policeman. Looks like a raw hamburger on a Kaiser roll. It's like an orgy of dope-addicts tryin' to be circus clowns, bejeez. Speakin' of orgies, Imus in the Morn', the only orgy you've ever had was that Blue Monday song the band made on your I-pod, you wrinkled up douche bag ya. I know it was on there because I saw it back on April 9, bejeez. What happened there, couldn't fit a couple of those in between the powder and the drinks, ya deviant scumbag ya, bejeez?

Speaking of hiding shalaylees, there's a new gel that supposedly blocks STDs. Now Deirdre can finally get it on with Al Roker and not get jungle fever, bejeez. This dumb invention is just another strike against that bastard Darwin, and his natural selection and evolution nonsense. Only an omnipotent God who intelligently designed life on this planet, could also design a group of dingbats to come up with crap like this, bejeez.

Now bow your heads, it's time to pray, bejeez!

In the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost, Imus on the new Fox channel we want the most, Lord hear our prayer. Lord, we pray that ex-professor Ward Churchill gets a job and quick, and hope that no one tries to kill the little dick. Lord hear our prayer. Finally, Lord we pray that the huge squid in California's waters doesn't get assaulted by one of Rodham daughters, Lord hear our prayer.

God Bless us and save us.

Monday, July 23, 2007

Good morning and God Bless. ::clears throat::

Well happy birthday, Imus in the Morn'! Hopefully your last, bejeez. Time to get out the smellin' salts...

Did you see Tony Blair landed in Israel, Imus in the Morn'? He wants to help the bagel-eaters and the towel-heads stop blowin' each others asses to dust. They're callin' it "Mission Impossible" - and just like Tom Cruise's flop of a movie, this tea-sippin' dingbat will probably wind up head-to-head with Hamas' Mickey Mouse, and end up hangin' headless from bridge somewhere, bejeez!

Have you been watchin' baseball, Imus in the Morn'? Steroid-sucker Barry Bonds is all set to break the homerun record, and no one gives a damn! Reminds me of when Bryant Gumbel left the Today show. It's not that these aren't important events, but honestly - if a tree falls in the woods and no one hears it, does it make a sound?!

I happened to tune into Larry King half dead the other night Imus in the Morn', and when this hunch-backed hermit isn't gasping for air on life support, he's having kids, bejeez. Watching his show made me change my stance on legalizing marijuana - you'd HAVE to be high to watch this decaying cadaver talk. Poor Tammy Faye - God rest her soul - went on this dingbat's show and died the next day! They said it was cancer, but I think he did her in, the life-suckin' gaping a-hole, God forgive me.

Now bow your heads, it's time to pray!

In the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost, India's new female president to shower we want the most! Lord, hear our prayer! Lord, we wish Don Imus a happy birthday, bejeez, and pray he doesn't have a heart attack next time he goes to sneeze! Lord, hear our prayer! And finally, Lord, we pray that next time high-pitched squeaker David Beckham goes to play in the soccer game, that some fudge-packin' faggot doesn't try to hump him 'til he's lame, bejeez! Lord hear our prayer!

God bless us and save us!

Friday, July 20, 2007

Good morning and God Bless. ::Clears throat::

Happy Saturday, Imus in the Morn' - and a happy fifth anniversary to WorldCom's bankruptcy, bejeez. In the Klu Klux Congress this afternoon, Senator Robert 'KKK' Byrd said he wouldn't mind to watch that dreadlocked fairy Michael Vick be put to death for how he treated those dogs, bejeez. Do you think he'll be setting a cross on fire while he watches it, you wrinkled up old buzzard ya. Shut your stupid piehole, ya two-legged anal wart ya Imus in the Morn'.

President BB Brain is having another colonoscopy today, and they're gonna be determining just how far up his butt Helen Thomas has gotten since the last time they looked, bejeez. The wrinkled up little troll was gettin' a little too old to be livin' under her bridge, and she needed a new home that was warmer but still full of feces, bejeez. So while our beloved rocket scientist leader is knocked out, the tickin' time bomb war criminal is gonna play chief executive, God help us. If something happens to this dingbat while BB Brain is knocked out, garlic breath grandma has to step up to lead. At least we have something to look forward to, though. In 18 months the tuna licker and the douche bag with the Jew hating name will replace the current occupants of the White House, then we'll really have something to fear. You know those cyanide pills we've been carrying around, Imus' in the Morn'? Now'd be the time to take them, bejeez.

The last Harry Potter book comes out today, too, Imus in the Morn'. This tawdry tale of a half-load swallowin' homo playin' with spells and magic is a sin against God, bejeez. Then again, if it weren't for children learning how to use such black magic, Mrs. Imus never would've been able to make you get it up so she could have Wyatt, you impotent old douchebag ya bejeez.

Now bow your heads, it's time to pray.

In the name of the father, son, and holy ghost, Al Roker's head shoved in a toaster we want the most. Lord hear our prayer. Lord, we pray that Imus gets back on the air, the dirty old fag, before they drag him out of his house in a black body bag, Lord hear our prayer. And finally Lord we pray that this weekend goes by quick, and Steve Capus goes he whole weekend without touchin' a dick, bejeez. Lord hear our prayer.

God bless us and save us.
Good morning and God Bless ::clears throat::

Let's get somethin' straight, Imus in the Morn'. These pencil-necked idiots on the internet pretending to be us have to be joking. This dingbat wop on youtube claiming to be me has it wrong in two ways - he has too much hair, and you can't see his hat. He makes his videos with the quality of an underground pornographic movie, bejeez. He's probably got Ana Marie Cox on the other end of a glory hole filmin' it. You know why they call it a glory holy, Ana? No, not because some priest tried to play hide the shalaylee through the confessional window. It's because some chick from the Opie and Anthony show was screaming "Oh God!" in there too many times a coupla' years ago. The hell with that. Bend over, ya skank with the indecent surname. I'll get Al Sharpton give you a hail mary, and it'll be full of something, but I can guarantee you it won't be grace, God forgive me!

Let's get down to business, Imus in the Morn' - Nancy Pelosi's going to write a memoir. What's she going to write about, how to be a grandmother and have no facial expressions because she's so shot up with sausage poison? It makes me wonder if she has any idea where the hell she is half the time. I remember at the State of the Union a few months ago, she kept looking at Bush and Cheney like she had Stockholm syndrome, bejeez. This dried up, tooth-bleached old grandma is a heartbeat away from the presidency, Imus in the Morn' - she'd run the joint with less awareness than Reagan did, God rest his soul!

Now Hussein Obama and Romney are engaged in a heated debate about whether or not sexual education should be taught to kindergartners, bejeez. If it were, I doubt you'd have a wife, vodka breath! Her birth control was probably shaped like a Fred Flintsone vitamin, you cradle-robbin' cadaver ya, bejeez. And now Al Gore's claimin' that eating beef is worse for the environment than driving. Well maybe if the fat bitch would stop eating so much, this cow wouldn't be producing so much methane. I don't question his knowledge of the environment, because if I were that fat and digusting, I know I'd be destroying it too, bejeez! If he really wants to help the planet so much, why don't they send this mensa leader somewhere to make him help clear a mine field!

Bow your heads, you sacreligious bunch of athiest morons, and let's say a prayer. In the name of the father, son, and holy ghost, Al Roker fired we want the most, Lord hear our prayer. Also Lord we pray that the I-man gets tangled up in his oxygen tubes, and he gets found hanging from the ceiling like a hot air balloon, bejeez. And finally, Lord we pray that Karen from West Virginia stays as well as she can, and she sticks around long enough to welcome back the I-Man, LORD HEAR OUR PRAYER! (That was hard to rhyme, bejeez!)

Have a lovely weekend! God bless us and save us!

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Good morning and God Bless. ::clears throat::

I want some tape, Imus in the Morn’. Some duct tape to put over Al Sharpton’s mouth so he suffocates on his own hot air, bejeez. But there’s something this prime candidate for a visit from the angel of death is missing, and that’s a soul. Someone needs to tell the fat man with the bug eyes and the gaping mouth to keep eating and stop talking, bejeez. I had a dream last night, Imus in the Morn’, and that is that the next time a tornado strikes Long Island, this mouth-breathing mongoloid gets stuck under a house, and the poor bastards that’d be rescuing his fat ass flip this dickhead the bird and throw some more rubble on the pile, bejeez. Maybe take a pee on it while they’re at it, God forgive me.

What’s this in the news about that two-legged turd Michael Vick being involved in organizing dog fights? Someone ought to throw him into a ring, that buck-toothed faggot, and let a real dog like Hillary Clinton have at ‘im, bejeez. And fat Tim wants to come back on the new Imus in the Morn’, program. He wants to have “Meet the Press” on “Meet the Prick”. Suck it up, tubby – you don’t need to be explodin’ on the I-man. Why doesn’t he stick to something he’s good at – being a fat bitch sucking on a tail pipe. Him and the rest of those dingbats over at MessDNC could take turns blowin’ each other, bejeez.

By the way, buttface, in this decadent and frivolous country, did you see the idiots over at the army took the wrong testicle out of a guy? That’s nuts! I know I’m a little behind in the news cycle, but his poor wife is gonna have her damn equilibrium thrown off by only takin’ one ball in the chin for so long, bejeez.

Now bow your heads and let’s pray, you filthy jackasses ya, bejeez.

In the name of the father, the son, and holy ghost, Imus trapped in the 41st steet hole we want the most. Lord hear our prayer. Lord, we pray that Ahmadinejad’s summer is really hot, and we hope that he spends most if it being cooked inside a pot, Lord hear our prayer. Lord, we pray that Hillary Clinton isn’t trying to be a man, and that thing between her legs isn’t used when she goes to the can, bejeez. And finally Lord we pray that Tom Cruise’s Hiter movie goes off without a hitch, and by the time it’s done filming they find him in a ditch, bejeez – Lord hear our prayer.

God bless us and save us!

Monday, July 16, 2007

Motor-mouthed mongoloids, bejeez.

Good morning and God Bless. ::clears throat::

Let me ask you this Imus in the Morn', what made motormouth Dietl decide today would be the stay he starts mumblin' the beans about how you're gonna be risin' from the dead, bejeez?! Hearin' him talk sounds like someone's holdin' his head under water, ya butt-faced lookin' wrinkled old buzzard. Kind of like a Looney Toons cartoon - you ever see those cartoons, Imus in the Morn'? You probably watched it with your wife while you were dating her, ya creepy old pedophile ya, bejeez.

And where's the liberal prick-suckin' media at with reporting the news that Rev. Tawana Brawley won't protest if you return, Imus in the Morn'? That twinkie-filled mouth-breathing mongoloid ought to miss the train tracks one of these days and fall into the schism, God forgive me. For being a man of the cloth, it makes me wonder why he doesn't wear one more, Imus in the Morn'. There probably isn't enough cloth to cover his fat ass. Probably too busy watching the cross around his nappy neck smack some girl's backside while he's playing hide the shalaylee without her consent, God forgive me. Someone oughta smack him so hard they rearrange the liver spots on his ugly face. While they're at it, they should do the same to you, Imus in the Morn'. Why don't you answer me you numb-struck mummy ya, bejeez?!

And speakin' of rotund squeaky weasels, Imus in the Morn', where has fat Tim been? What with the big erection, er.. excuse me, election comin' up in a few short months, I'd expect him to be makin' his rounds with suckin' Satan's toes, bejeez. Him and Dick Morris go together like cheese and crackers, for the love of baby Jesus. Maybe he'll end up between the Obamas and look like an Oreo cookie waitin' to be dunked in some presidential milk, God forgive me. Well Imus in the Morn', there's a first time for everything. What, with Mary Mapes offering her two cents on Katie Couric. You and her have something in common, you showless wonders.

McCord, you wake the hell up and answer the following question. Did you see Rosie O'Donuts declined on the Price is Right offer, saying she doesn't need the money bad enough? I'm surprised she even took the time to answer. She must have taken a breath between her meals of gourmet fish, bejeez. John McCain's presidential bid is having a wonderful success rate, Imus in the Morn'. His campaign staffers are bailin' faster than your guests after the 'comment' incident, bejeez.

Now bow your heads you devil-worshipping bastards and let's say a prayer.

In the name of the father, son, and holy ghost, a tuna lickin' Jew hatin' Clinton-Obama ticket we want the most, Lord hear our prayer. Lord, we pray that Imus in the Morn' drops dead of a stroke, and Jesse Jackson cracks open his head and sucks out the yolk, bejeez. God forgive me. Lord, we pray that the war criminal Vice-President decides to invade Iran, and that Nancy Pelosi whacks him over the head with a fryin' pan. Lord hear our prayer. And finally, Lord, we pray that the I-man really does get back on the air in September, before he really does get turned into nothing but a burning ember, bejeez. Lord hear our prayer.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Boy, you're in for it this time you deflated windbag ya, bejeez. What's with ya showin' emotion in public, ya fudge-packin faggot ya, bejeez?!

Well good morning and God bless Imus in the Morn'! ::clears throat::

A happy soon to be birthday to you too, Methuselah. The older you're gettin', the more you're starting to look like that hook-nosed half-paralyzed botox-injected van Susteren on the Fox News deal, ya half-empty douche bag ya, bejeez. You're making Contessa Brewer think she could be the winner of the Miss Universe pageant for Christ's sake. Every year you get a little older, Mrs. Imus gets a big red marker out and uses it on the calendar, hoping and praying this'll be the last, God forgive me. If anything, wee Wyatt may want to study medicine someday, and with you he won't even have to leave the house - he'll have his own cadaver stuffed in a box in the basement downstairs, you decaying fossil ya bejeez.

Did you see the new bin Laden video, Imus in the Morn'? The more I look at him, he looks just like Hussein Obama's stunt double who desperately needs to shave, God forgive me. But, it's not his fault he was born with the Jew-hatin' name, bejeez. And speaking of donkeys, did you see those two asses Clinton and Edwards saying they want to exclude lower rivals? It seems like Satan's not in charge of hell anymore, bejeez. But I have a solution to this Imus in the Morn' - let the fish-eating Clinton raise the price of bagels a nickel in New York, and watch how the beanie-wearing schmucks flock to them. They'll be sitting around their fireplaces singing praises of "WE SHALL OVERCOME", bejeez. And also, you jurassic jerk-off, the story about the tallest man meeting the shortest brought memories back to me, bejeez. Kind of like Mrs. Imus on the wedding night, ya lizard-faced pillowbiter ya, bejeez.

Now bow your heads and let's say a prayer so I can get the hell to bed. I've got to wake up soon to teach the untouchables -- well, we call them "children" these days, bejeez -- all about the wonders of the Bible and the Lord, you athiest twit ya, bejeez.

In the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost, Imus dead and gone we want the most. Lord hear our prayer. Also Lord we pray that on the day that Imus passes away, Mrs. Imus goes terribly and awfully astray. Lord, we also pray that hairy-palmed tuna-eatin' Clinton gets lost on a fishing ship, and that she never makes it back from that trip. Lord hear our prayer. Lastly, Lord, we pray that Drudge updates his website, and puts an end to all this damn hype, bejeez. Lord hear our prayer.

God bless us and save us!

Good morning and God Bless! ::clears throat::

Well Imus in the Morn', all these rumors going around about you making a comeback are starting to scare the hell out of me. I've never heard of a dead man coming back to life, bejeez. Who the hell are you, Lazarus? And no one seems to know when the hell it's going to happen Imus in the Morn'. We're playin' this damn guessin' game and I want to be prepared for when the skeleton in the cowboy hat rises out of the grave, bejeez.

Did you see that Katie Couric is doing better in the ratings than Brian Williams, bejeez. That's like Rosie O'Donnell outrunning a Ferarri, you flippin' douche bag. The Chinese got it wrong with Rosie, bejeez. It doesn't look like the year of the pig - look what happened to you, Imus in the Morn'.

McCord, you shut the hell up you closeted Nazi you, bejeez. Go park your Cherokee on a set of train tracks and wait for the good Lord to do his thing, you four-eyed half-load swallowin' homo ya, bejeez. And while you're at it, give a good suck to the tail pipe with the motor runnin'. It'll make you feel like you're in your bedroom with all the sucking action. While you're at it, you could probably engage in a game of hide the shalaylee with the gas tank, you deviant scumbag ya, bejeez.

And since we're on the subject of Cox's, Imus in the Morn', let's talk about the worst one of them all - Ana Marie. Just because she's got big boobs and a tight ass doesn't mean she gets a pass for jumpin' off the Imus ship first chance she got, bejeez. Between her and Contessa Brewer, I wonder who needed bigger doors to be installed at the MessNBC studios, you decaying cadaver ya, bejeez.

Now bow your heads you heathens and let's say a prayer. In the name of the father, son, and holy ghost, Imus laid to rest we want the most. Lord, hear our prayer. Lord, we pray that Al Roker sits on a pin, and his fat head explodes all over Meredith's chin, bejeez. Lord, hear our prayer. Lord, we also pray that Imus gets rehired, and that dingbat on Morning Joe gets set on fire, bejeez.


Which doesn't belong and why?

a) Anti-war activist Cindy Sheehan
b) Victoria Beckham
or c) Radio-talk-show-host Imus in the Morn'!

Well the answer is clearly B, you moron ya, bejeez. Because unlike the other two mouth-breathing morons who are subjected to constant coughing fits, Victoria Beckham only chokes when she's playing hide the shalaylee with Mr. Beckham. Kinda like your wife with Harold Ford, Jr. Cradle-robbin' cadaver ya, bejeez - go help your wife with her homework you dumb twit!

God bless us and save us!

Friday, July 6, 2007

Good morning and God bless. ::clears throat::

Well happy Independence Day, Imus in the Morn', and a happy birthday to good ol' President BB brain too. Did you see over the weekend that bunch of fools that died in the manure pit, Imus in the Morn'? I thought that would be how you would go, but I was wrong you turkey-necked half-load swallowing homo ya bejeez. I guess the old phrase 'you are what you eat' is pretty fitting, ya Betty Ford-lookin' sissy. Why don't you go suck on a tail pipe you deflated wind bag ya bejeez?! Did you see any fireworks the other night Imus in the Morn'? The only fireworks I saw were at the Lutheran church, where they stripped the openly gay minister of his frock. You could say they frocked him, bejeez. Too much playin' hide the shalaylee if you ask me. What do you think of homosexuality, you decomposing ingrate? I'll be your fine with it, you pocket pool master ya bejeez.

Alright, bow your heads and let's say a prayer so I can go take a "nappy" - I'm tired, bejeez. In the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost, Imus dyin' of heat stroke we want the most. Lord hear our prayer. Lord, we pray that the D. C. madam reveals McCord's name in the coming days, so this idiot finally gets down to his knees and prays. Lord hear our prayer. And finally Lord we pray that Al Gore's son does some more drugs, and that he gets sat on by the big fat lug. Amen.

Have a lovely weekend!