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!