Travels in Wingnuttia
I’m preparing to embark on my journey, Dear Reader, to the dark, pestilential swamp of right blogistan, see what the rageholic issue o’ the day is, and then mock them for it.
The question is… what kind of protection am I going to need? They don’t have sex (except twice a year, in marriage only, missionary, of course), so I’m pretty sure I’ll be safe from STDs. Assuming Bolton hasn’t given Pamela anything communicable, of course.
I’m safe from that, but I’m rather worried about getting some sort of yuck from their spittle-flecked invective… or their general Cheetos vectors from the keyboards of the 101st Fighting Keyboardist division of Chickenhawk CentCom. There are at least three deadly communicable fried-snack-food diseases and/or named comas that spring to mind.
Seeing as how I’ll be wading through the prime breeding ground of the Cheetovirus, I’m going to need some heavy duty waders. For those that don’t know, the perfect wingnutty vector breeding ground consists of mama’s basement, fedora, a diaper, a fax machine that only receives messages from the RNC, a large huge collection of porn, and a collection of online dating aliases (and attached hunky photos) that are used to troll for cybersex.
Anyone have a MOPP suit handy?
