Civil War 2018: Alex Jones is a Moron
Dispatch from that Civil War that notorious asshat Alex Jones said liberals were going to start on July 4th.
July 6, 2018
Somewhere in a mid-sized American city
My Dearest Cora,
War is hell. Alex Jones said it would be, but we liberals were not prepared for this level of ennui. I don't know exactly where we are tonight as I write to you, but we are bivouacked in the courtyard outside a Starbucks somewhere in the middle of a city. We have been given our ration of Triple, Venti, Soy, No Foam Lattes and 2-day-old croissants. You can't imagine the hardship. I don't know if I can bear it. But bear it I must, my dear.
Yesterday at twilight an entire battalion of Trumpsters coming from the nearby K&W overtook us on their accursed mobility scooters. They waved their canes and bawled frenzied shouts of "Trump, Trump". Had it not been for a brave barsista who turned a TV to Democracy NOW and jacked the volume as high as it would go, I daresay they would have set upon us like a flock of screeching penguins; all flapping arms and waddling gaits. Instead, thank the Lord, we managed to finally turn them away using a Spanish-English Dictionary and a Muslim call to prayer app on a fellow soldier's smartphone. Cora, my love, I tell you their faces will haunt my dreams. It was as if someone had taken a hammer to their bone spurs while whispering "President Hillary Clinton" directly into their brains.
I fear I must go now. We are soon to be on the move, as the Captain has learned of a pub crawl nearby we may join up with for reinforcements. Text me as soon as you can, Cora. I will need the small respite from this time of horror.
I remain forever, your
George
July 6, 2018
Somewhere in a mid-sized American city
My Dearest Cora,
War is hell. Alex Jones said it would be, but we liberals were not prepared for this level of ennui. I don't know exactly where we are tonight as I write to you, but we are bivouacked in the courtyard outside a Starbucks somewhere in the middle of a city. We have been given our ration of Triple, Venti, Soy, No Foam Lattes and 2-day-old croissants. You can't imagine the hardship. I don't know if I can bear it. But bear it I must, my dear.
Yesterday at twilight an entire battalion of Trumpsters coming from the nearby K&W overtook us on their accursed mobility scooters. They waved their canes and bawled frenzied shouts of "Trump, Trump". Had it not been for a brave barsista who turned a TV to Democracy NOW and jacked the volume as high as it would go, I daresay they would have set upon us like a flock of screeching penguins; all flapping arms and waddling gaits. Instead, thank the Lord, we managed to finally turn them away using a Spanish-English Dictionary and a Muslim call to prayer app on a fellow soldier's smartphone. Cora, my love, I tell you their faces will haunt my dreams. It was as if someone had taken a hammer to their bone spurs while whispering "President Hillary Clinton" directly into their brains.
I fear I must go now. We are soon to be on the move, as the Captain has learned of a pub crawl nearby we may join up with for reinforcements. Text me as soon as you can, Cora. I will need the small respite from this time of horror.
I remain forever, your
George
