The gay’s know no bounds in their intestinal pleasure seeking and now America’s finest store’s morality is on the line. Walmart, I cry for thee.
Yesterday as I cried and wept over how am black named Obama ruined America’s perfect credit rating, I needed some comfort food to deal with all the stress and anguish. No longer can we just order up 100 bombers planes to rain peaceful death upon some terror-headed idiots in Saudi Asryia or even better yet Iraq or Afghanistan! I weep for our troops lost and wish I had the power of God, because I would fastball every hell scent curry terrorist straight into the Sun and laugh as their cries rang through space to my Holy Ears until they seared and seared and then seared more in Hell!
But I am not God and even then, I bet America cannot even afford to print out more Bibles for our troops to give to our pet nations to teach them our ways. This is a sad, crippled time for America, and just like a wounded zebra in the Sarenghetti, America is being targetted as limp prey in her moment of weakness.
And on the prowl, licking their lusting lips as they masticate with mouth-watering yearning for the innocent, the gay pride agenda.
Gay Agenda Attacking Walmart
My nephew’s birthday is coming up this week, so when I wents to Walmart I thought I would by him a nice gift. Though we are all stressed and wondering just how many countries we’ll have to invade to build our wealth back up so we can undo Obama’s damages, there is no reason for our childrens to be all upset. They should have carefree summers.
So I went to buy my nephew a bicycle, but then, horror.
Look at the sign, America! What is this? Huffy is now more than a bike name apparently! Why was this sign in my Walmart last night!
16 in bos invasion? Is that so, Huffy?! Hussy more like it! I am sickened about all this and I can read straight through the euphamism! Just know that next to the Smoldering Lake of Terrorists, Chef Satan is going to have a spicy gumbo boiling and the main ingredient will be rotten gay flesh you homo nasties! What’s next, the poopoo pleasure bucket seat with hooker lip snocker vibrations on your bikes! Sickos!