Wild Bill Kristol fell to his knees

[salinen]

he looked at his bloodied hands and knew it was his own. He fell face first onto the dirt street. A small cloud of dust marked his final release of energy. Seeing Bill gunned down, Hoppalong Hannity shit his chaps but good. He ran to the outhouse and dropped himself down the hole - he was shaking. Ballless Limpballs took a pellet through the eyeball. His other eye popped out from the impact. Cocksure Coulter heard the commotion from the urinal. But before she could zip up, a knife sailed into the back of her neck and plum through t'ther side. She tried to speak but the larynx was severed. That was enough for O'really O'reilly. He jumped on his own Ass and sidesaddle toward the town limits. He stopped at the edge of town and dismounted his Ass. He didn't even notice the rattler he stepped on. O'really thrashed around quite a bit while the rattler pumped venom.

This is fun.

[malaise]

1. Where were Russert, Tucker and Tweety

while all this was happening. After all they are three more hacks.

[liberal N proud]

2. Keep going

[salinen]

3. Add on please

it's a great release to make these fucks suffer, even if it is pretend.

[liberal N proud]

4. But you were doing so well

I just can't write off the cuff like that. You were great.

[salinen]

10. Thanks pardner

[jaxx]

5. ROFLMAO where's the beginning of this story?????

[salinen]

11. The stage from Dodge

was late that afternoon. How's that?

[liberalmuse]

6. If all that happened...

I would reconsider my atheism. It would make a great board game, that's for sure--a kind of twisted "Clue" or "Monopoly" maybe called "Republican Rendition" or "PNAC Attack". Right wing pundits and politicians would end up in Gitmo or docked in the Hague awaiting trials for war crimes. Rush Limbaugh would only think he was flying first class to rent an underage boy in the Philipines, but he'd end up in Abu Ghraib with a hood over his head, left to the mercy of his most avid listeners. Ann Coulter would be renditioned off to a monastery where she'd be forced to shave her head, don an orange monk robe that would cover her potruding Adam's apple, forced to milk goats and herd sex-depraved camels for the rest of her days.

[salinen]

9. Might be worth a call

to Milton Bradley.

[Bitwit1234]

7. I thought you were going to say

so he could get closer to bush for the ass kiss.

[KharmaTrain]

8. Anyone Remember William The Bloody's Old Job???

A friend reminded me of this the other day and brought out some laughter. He was Quayle's chief of staff. He was a toadie to a real toad. The true example of the Peter Principle in action.

[zeemike]

12. Meanwhile Kid Tucker Carlson

snuck out the back dore of Madam Malkins Whore house only to step in a liberal pile of horse shit.While bending over to clean the shit off his new boots given to him by GW "Brushy" Bush the ghost of Molly Ivans let him have it with both barrels of #4 buckshot right in the ass. The mess created was the talk of the town for years.

You are right this is fun.

[krispos42]

13. Ravin' David Vitter...

...heard the commotion from his usual room above Palfrey's Tavern. "Iraq is not a quagmire!" was heard faintly in the dry prairie air before a gunshot rang out, faint echoes slapping off of the sides of the wooden buildings. He peeked out a window and saw Wild Bill Kristol stretched out on the Main Street, lifeless, his fat Rolodex of neoconservative fatcats tumbled on the ground next to his Gucci loafers.

"Estate tax!" Vitter grunted through the ball gag around his head. The dominatrix, a tall, lean figure in black leather named Mistress Veronica, responded to the safe word (a phrase he would never use by accident) by coiling her whip and unlocking him from the crucifix to which he was shackled.

As soon as he was free he threw his diaper off and donned his boxers, then pulled on dungarees, a shirt, his vest, and his chaps. He was fumbling with his gunbelt when he heard three quiet clicks behind him. He turned to the window and came face-to-face with the huge black hole in the business end of a .45-caliber Shofield revolver. Somewhere behind that hole, he was sickly certain, was a person. But all he could see was the hole. It filled his universe, blotting out all thought and all perception.

A second hole appeared next to to the first. There was motion from behind the second hole, then three more clicks were heard. Finally, Ravin' David understood. The clicks were the revolver's hammer being cocked and the cylinder being rotated. Like most chickenhawks, he had never served in the military despite the gaudy nickel-plated sixgun in his gunbelt.

He had just enough time to soil his boxers before the universe exploded into flames and distant, thudding impacts. A lot of impacts.

Vitter staggered back and fell prone, the ceiling hovering over him. After an eternity, Mistress Veronica appeared at the edge of his fading vision. "You couldn't shoot him outside? Look at the mess! And this is real leather I'm wearing, not PVC or vinyl! It's HARD to clean!" her voice shrilled dimly. And then he died.

William "The Librul" Pitt stepped through the open window, holstered one revolver and broke open the other one, spilling hot empty brasses on the floor. "Listen, lady," he said, fingers shuttling from the fresh cartridges on his gunbelt to the revolver's empty cylinder, "you can keep whatever's in his wallet. I didn't come for his stuff, I came for his life." He snapped the freshly-loaded revolver closed and holstered it, drew his other one, and spilled more shiny brass casings on the room's floor.

Mistress Veronica stepped daintily around the spreading pool of blood, 7-inch stilettos clicking on the roughly-finished wood, and dug through Vitter's pants until she found is wallet. She opened it up and exclaimed in dismay "It's empty!" She shook it, and a single credit card fell out onto the floor. She bent over and picked it up. "United States Treasury Department" was printed across the face.

A smile creased her stern face, and she tossed her long, straight, jet-black hair over her shoulder. "Looks like I'm set for life!" she purred. William Pitt snapped his second revolver closed, dropped it in his left holster, touched his fingers to the brim of his hat, and left.

After all, there were a thousand more out there to get to.

It would be a long night.

Hey, this is fun!!!!

<on edit: fixed grammer>