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Mother Mary Full of Sh*t - I so hope Karoline will appreciate MY frankness. -- JoJoFromJerz
https://jojofromjerz.substack.com/p/mother-mary-full-of-shit(Much more at the substack!)
Karoline Leavitt isn’t a press secretary.
She’s a pathologically lying, old-man-fucking, fascist-fondling ventriloquist dummy with a Bible in one hand and a flamethrower in the other. A propaganda-spewing Stepford shitposter in a blazer, baptized in spray tan and sanctified in sewage. She doesn’t answer questions. She smothers them with a sequined pillow while whispering, “thoughts and prayers.”
If Satan ran a PR firm out of a Chick-fil-A parking lot, this bitch would be regional manager of the quarter.
She slithers into that briefing room like it’s a drive-thru confessional for the spiritually bankrupt, clutching a binder stuffed with pre-chewed propaganda and wearing a smile so stretched it looks like it was stapled on by a drunk taxidermist. She speaks in a dialect that’s been laundered in cowardice, rinsed in a pawn shop Bible, buffed by interns with no soul, and spat back out like a hymnal rewritten by ChatGPT after a head injury. You ask her about a seventy-seven-year-old man calling a woman piggy, and she hands you that polished little turd she calls “frankness” — like it’s a sacrament, not the verbal equivalent of picking a scab with a dirty fork and calling it dermatology.
She stood there with the moral confidence of a show dog in heat at a Confederate parade, looked straight into the press pool with her powdered face like a tampon commercial villain, and told them they should be “grateful.” Grateful that the guy who treats women like half-off appetizers at a casino buffet decided to call one piggy in public, on camera, aboard Air Force One, like that somehow makes it noble.
. . .
She’s a pathologically lying, old-man-fucking, fascist-fondling ventriloquist dummy with a Bible in one hand and a flamethrower in the other. A propaganda-spewing Stepford shitposter in a blazer, baptized in spray tan and sanctified in sewage. She doesn’t answer questions. She smothers them with a sequined pillow while whispering, “thoughts and prayers.”
If Satan ran a PR firm out of a Chick-fil-A parking lot, this bitch would be regional manager of the quarter.
She slithers into that briefing room like it’s a drive-thru confessional for the spiritually bankrupt, clutching a binder stuffed with pre-chewed propaganda and wearing a smile so stretched it looks like it was stapled on by a drunk taxidermist. She speaks in a dialect that’s been laundered in cowardice, rinsed in a pawn shop Bible, buffed by interns with no soul, and spat back out like a hymnal rewritten by ChatGPT after a head injury. You ask her about a seventy-seven-year-old man calling a woman piggy, and she hands you that polished little turd she calls “frankness” — like it’s a sacrament, not the verbal equivalent of picking a scab with a dirty fork and calling it dermatology.
She stood there with the moral confidence of a show dog in heat at a Confederate parade, looked straight into the press pool with her powdered face like a tampon commercial villain, and told them they should be “grateful.” Grateful that the guy who treats women like half-off appetizers at a casino buffet decided to call one piggy in public, on camera, aboard Air Force One, like that somehow makes it noble.
. . .
14 replies
= new reply since forum marked as read
= new reply since forum marked as read
Apt description of that thing that the Glazed orange Pig has Telling Lies to America. 
Unlike how they act during Democratic administrations where they scream abuse and harassment at the Press Secretary. 
