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January 24, 2008

Ye Olde Scribe Presents: What to Do With YOUR Plastic Baby Fetus

Filed under: Uncategorized — Ye Olde Scribe @ 6:33 pm

Ye Olde Scribe’s Incredible, Inedible Quote Machine
“Something to THINK about, not EAT, dummy!”

“Man will never be free until the last king is strangled with the entrails of the last priest.” – Denis Diderot

Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam…
“Hey, most of it is crap, but every once upon the birth of a litter of purple puppies…”

Here are what the draft plans for… (Junior’s) …Library now call for:

The AMT room. Originally designed for the very few well-heeled visitors, staff now expect 26 million to pass through this room annually.

The Alberto Gonzales Room – Where you can’t remember any of the exhibits.

The Hurricane Katrina Room – Where it is always under construction.

The Texas Air National Guard Room – Where you don’t have to show up.

The Walter Reed Hospital Room – Where you cannot get in.

The Guantanamo Bay Room – Where you cannot get out.

The Weapons of Mass Destruction Room – Nobody has been able to find it.

The War in Iraq Room – After you complete your first tour, you to go back for your second, third and fourth tours.

The K-Street Project Gift Shop – Where you can buy an election.

The Men’s Room – Where you could meet several Republican Senators in the stalls.

To be fair, the President has done some good things, and so the museum will have an electron microscope to help you locate them.

When asked, President Bush said that he didn’t care so much about the individual exhibits as long as his museum was better than his father’s.

Now, without further ado, YOS Productions and internet-based Free Thinkers Amusement Park Presents…

What to Do With YOUR Plastic Baby Fetus

Have you gotten your plastic fetus yet? It’s all the rage now, especially since Junior stole what he has treated as his own personal royal throne: The White House. Scribe’s surprised he hasn’t had it remodeled into a commode.

Well anywhosie… a Pro-Forced Birth group has been having funsie mailing out a plastic fetus to anyone, any group, who thinks the government shouldn’t control what goes on inside their own bodies. Cute, right?

Well, ALWAYS willing to help, Scribe has a few suggestions when you get yours…

1. Notice the cheap line caused by Chinese slave labor methods? That’s a DISSECTION line. Get out your scalpel and HAVE AT IT!!!!!!!!!!!! Then mail it back to the buggers with a note: “Please send more. The innards taste like chicken. YUM!”

2. Attach it to an ear swab after you’ve cut the end off. Send to Junior. Address:

Junior, c/o what was called The White House… now known as Junior’s Royal Potty
1600 Pennsylvania Ave. NW
Washington, DC 20500

Include a note: “Thanks for crapping on the Constitution again and again, your royal hinneyness! We only want to help. This should help you continue to NOT listen to anything but that evil voice within. Or you could just shove it far up that most downward portal where you store content similar to what your brain is made of. That’s right, to make it more obvious, you have__________ for brains.”

3. Or you could get a certain “little fetus” and send it back to all these anti-choice groups. Mail the little plastic fetus carrying a gun with a note that reads: “Yes, we decided to preemptively end his/her chance of being murdered because of the greed, lust for power and stupidity of politicians most of you jackasses continue to support WITHOUT THINKING.” Don’t let these assholes suggest that they’re “pro-life” without pointing out that’s a lie.

4. Just send back to the plastic fetus mailer, C.O.D., the corpse of any relative or friend who died because these ^%$#@!s think a small cluster of cells is not even a “fetus,” but a baby. Have the corpse holding a note that says just that. On the outside,  label the box as, “A gift of thanks for murdering my loved one through your efforts, and your support of Junior.”

Scribe is sure, if your creative, you too can come up with ideas. They will thank you. Well, maybe not, but maybe it might wise up just a few of the more thoughtful jerks before Jesus reincarnates their asses into slugs at the bottom of greasy trash cans.

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