Payback Ist Eine Schlampe

Contrary to Senator Bob Corker's admonitions, the recent vote, by workers at the Chattanooga plant, to refuse entry into the United Auto Workers Union, is probably going to be a major factor in keeping Volkswagen from opening any more plants in the area. 

 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/20/vw-union-workers_n_4820585.html

 

Senator Corker further went on to say he regretted "the hand job I gave, in good faith, to that creepy German guy, in exchange for the insider information. Good Lord, at least I didn't blow him...that would just be embarrassing, wouldn't it?"

 

Disclaimer:

 

The above statement is meant as satire, and is not intended, in any way, to suggest that Senator Corker actually exchanged sexual favors for insider information from the Volkswagen corporation, or anyone else, for that matter.

 

Also, to the best of my knowledge, Senator Corker does NOT kick puppies, knock over street signs, fondle rodents, cheat at solitaire, bet on baseball, open his presents on Christmas Eve, rather than Christmas morning, participate in Satanic rituals, squeeze the toothpaste from the center of the tube, use steroids, HGH, or any other illegal performance enhancing substance, leave the toilet seat up, drink the last of the good scotch, wear white after labor day, wear lifts in his shoes, dig out his earwax with the non-ink end of a ball-point pen, count cards, promote tooth decay, hide other people's hearing aids, talk on his cell phone at a movie, forget the words to "The Star Spangled Banner", pee in the sink, smuggle orchids, knock on the glass enclosure at the zoo, feed the dog under the table, tear the tag of his pillows, pick his feet in Poughkeepsie, yell "Free Bird" after every song, use wire hangers (ever), punch babies, fear the reaper, look back in anger, believe the hype, think twice (it's alright), leave the milk out, go into the water before waiting a half-hour, wear a dinner jacket to lunch, fart in an elevator, toss a dwarf, do anal on film, smoke a bowl for Jesus, go the library and tear out the last chapter of the mystery novels, wear the same underwear two days in a row, cry after sex, use someone else's toothbrush, wear a diaper before covering his whole body with petroleum jelly and jumping on a trampoline singing obscene sea shanties, or wave his hands in the air, in any way, shape, or form, that could be used to suggest that he just don't care.

 

At least not that I know. Frankly, I think he's a lying, nasty little fucker who, if he could get away with it, would do any or all of the above if he thought for one second it would help him turn a dime into eleven cents.

 

But that's just my opinion.

 

 

 

Brent Sanders

 

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