The Electoral Process is a game of chess mixed with Contact Foot Ball, with just a touch of wrestling and mental fencing- and, of course, this is a simile, not an observation of a literal connection, as all of these sports but chess are clearly dominated by Minorities, who would never be permitted to control the mechanations of American Government- and just like in Contact-Chess Foot-Wrestling Ball-Fencing for Not Blacks, the strategy one employs is vital to the protection of one’s team from certain defeat at the hands of the bigger, stronger, and actually in a literal sense more ethnic brutes on the opposing side (the most obvious example being Justice Clarence Thomas of the Supreme Court, the most openly dark-skinned man in any branch of the US Government, followed by precisely one third of B. Obama, who I am quite sure is a tremendous athlete due to his sportsmanlike frame.) One does not simply throw the pawn-ball-sword (the election) to one’s best player (R. Perry) and send him running for the Goal Net; to do so is to consign your best player to almost certain injury and defeat. Instead, one must convince the other team that the ball is somewhere else- in the designated area for the cheerleaders (N. Grace)- so that they run straight there, kill N. Grace by stomping on her head and savagely raping her nubile young body, and run aimlessly about upturning benches and crying, “goodness! Goodness! Where could the ball be?? We can not find it! Lo, our brutish demeanors are ill-suited for puzzles!!!” as The Good Team runs to victory!!! Huzzah, R. Perry is the new leader of the Free World!
Many of the faithless fair-weather Republicans in our country have complained recently about the caliber of candidate currently on the auction block for the Primary Elections; H. Cain is a Negro with a taste for the unwilling flesh of our white women, M. Romney is a detestable Mormon whose 12 secret wives will almost certainly surface in the press and cause a scandal, M. Bachmann is a soulless killing machine who most people would rather see thrown to H. Cain in the Rape Pits than in the Oval Office, and R. Perry appears to be G.H.W. Bush in disguise, depressed and forlorn over the loss of his presidency, after months of drinking himself to death and beating himself about the head with a claw hammer until he forgot the few bits of knowledge he actually had about the American government; what are the agencies of government, how does infrastructure work, what is debt, how do we avoid allowing the largest and most economically viable state in the union to be completely consumed by wildfire, and so forth. The People are afraid; their cries ring out across the newspapers and in the Casual Gentleman’s Clubhouses and Billiard halls. They scream, “how can we, the Republicans, arbiters of Good and Don’t Ask Me For Anything Even If It Means The Blacks Die On The Streets With No Police Or Food, possibly protect the ideals this country was founded on- the hunger for power, the obliteration of the poor, and Christian virtues of mercy and compassion- when our candidates are literally a pack of circus animals, a Moorish serial rapist, and a senile Libertarian who wandered into the wrong political party looking for his wife who has been dead for 40 years but we kept him around because he makes the most sense of any of them (despite being a libertarian, and completely senile)? Woudspelle,” they continue, “how can you be so cavalier as our Grand Old Party, the instrument of our power, the means by which we have maintained our testicular deathgrip on the poor and the downtrodden, the strings of our nationwide marionette collection, collapses around us?” The answer is simple: It’s all a clever ruse!
I’ll admit, it looks terrifying for my Grand old Party. After our failure to procure a permanent hereditary monarchy run by our most loyal of puppet families, the Bushes, followed by the detestable rise to power of that horrendous B.H. Obama (a rebellious young scamp whose goal from the very beginning, I assure you, has been to teach us a lesson after we refused to give him carte blanche to fix “problems” in our nation,) another failure to root ourselves in the Executive branch could mean the end of our Gentleman’s Society. This coincides, of course, with all of the terrifying events of the last year- the usurpation of my good friend M. Quid…Qua… Kadeefee, and this horrible camping fiasco happening in the city of York (I told them! I told them this horrible Sodom would prove to be the origin of our downfall!) With all of this going on at once, it’s hard to see a way we can claw our way out of the pit of despair that the Lesbians and the Young have dug for us. And that, my friends, is precisely the appearance of helplessness that we hope to project. It’s all a carefully constructed illusion! HA! HA!
See here! When the Democrats see the collection of candidates we have put up, they will have only one choice: try to outdo us. Clearly no intelligent political party would choose such a motley assortment of failures with no viable candidate among them with billions of dollars in campaign money and the fate of the ownership of the Free World (which belongs rightfully to us!) at stake. “There is obviously some strategy involved,” they will say, and after exhausting their investigative resources- private detectives and spies whose job ordinarily would be to sniff out damaging information about our plans to enslave the Chinese immigrants that sully the streets of my beloved Yellowtown, where I procure my pork- they will find themselves with no reliable information as to what exactly they are up against. They will have no insight into our master plan, and they will panic! Panic! They will drink each others’ blood, they will run naked through the streets laughing hysterically and clawing their own eyes out and screaming, “Woudspelle and the Republicans have done it! They have won! We are lost! Lost!!! YAHHH HAAAA HAAAA!” And then, they will have no choice but to make a leap of Faith; they will attempt to beat us at our own game, despite not having any clue what our game is. They will try to come up with a group of candidates that is even more disgustingly impossible to elect than our own in an effort to outshine us and outperform us in whatever chinky dinkery we have planned! B.H. Obama will be cast out as too reasonable, too sensible, too human a candidate; in his place, terrible musician and patriarch of a family of dirty hippies C. Manson will lead their group, obese mail clerk Q. Latifah will eat all of their pastries and cakes, and the cast of Jersey Shore will counter H. Cain’s serial rape with a scorching array of Sexually Transmitted Diseases. It will be the most tremendously horrible political move in history, and just as the Democrats are patting themselves on the back for outdoing us, just as they are breathing a sigh of relief, declaring, “my God, we have done it. We do not know what we have done, but we have done it successfully,” our own R. Perry will swoop down from his perch in the trees, cease to be a human paperweight, and will reveal to the world that it was all an act; he does know how the government works, Texas never burned to the ground under his watch, and the Republicans now have exactly one viable candidate for the presidency, as opposed to the Democrats’ none! Victory is assured! Let the Chinese Rape Factories rise!!!! From the ashes of our disgraced political party, made a joke by those apologetic moderates the Tea Party, will rise a burning phoenix of redemption and victory! None shall escape! The entire US government, and by simple logistical extension the entire world, will belong to us!!!
I, for one, am ecstatic for the moment of revelation to occur!