“Well, what if Senator McCain called Obama an ‘uppity negro’ from the stump, would you feel more comfortable donating $75 then? He is a hero, you know. How about $50? I understand-- times are tight. Well, can I at least put you down for another $10 tar baby button?”
“I will not call Balack Osama hateful names. I’m bigger than that, but you—you are not, so that’s your job.”
“I’m sorry ma’am, but if you’re going to call Obama an Arab at my rally, you’re going to need this microphone.”
“Senator McCain, if a black man becomes president, how am I supposed to feel superior? I believe I speak for all these people around me when I say, I’m pretty stupid, tragically under-skilled, uneducated and unemployable, I look dumpy and I can’t even button the bottom of my sweater, so right now, an unsubstantiated feeling of racial superiority is all I have. So how will you protect the last thread I callously cling to?”
How is it that when an American flag touches the ground it has been desecrated and must be burnt, yet when this greasy half-wit drapes it over his scabie-infested mound of pale flesh and then yells racist things, it’s patriotism?
Well, if these 16 year-old high school cheerleaders standing next to a tractor aren’t qualified to pick the next President, who is?
“When I say Obama, you say ‘let’s subjugate an entire race by saying code words like socialist and terrorist even though the two have nothing to do with each other and are actually quite opposite, but since we can’t call him black, we’ll go with that! Obama!”