Hi and welcome back to America’s 2012 race for student body president: Today we heard that we should not vote for school yacht club treasurer Mitt Romney, because he enjoys giving unsolicited haircuts to his fellow male students against their will, what a jerk. But please consider on the other hand for a moment whether or not you are a raging misogynist asshole, and if not then you may not wish to vote for Barack Obama, because he has admitted to beating defenseless little girl students on the playground. And what kind of crazed sociopath does that?
Hahahaha look how dim this Obama is, he even put the story in one of his memoirs, like an idiot. Romney at least makes the Internet work to uncover his terrible crimes.
There was one other child in my class, though, who reminded me of a different sort of pain. Her name was Coretta, and before my arrival she had been the only black person in our grade. She was plump and dark and didn’t seem to have many friends. From the first day, we avoided each other but watched from a distance, as if direct contact would only remind us more keenly of our isolation.
Finally, during recess one hot, cloudless day, we found ourselves occupying the same corner of the playground. I don’t remember what we said to each other, but I remember that suddenly she was chasing me around the jungle gym and swings. She was laughing brightly, and I teased her and dodged this way and that, until she finally caught me and we fell to the ground breathless. When I looked up, I saw a group of children, faceless before the glare of the sun, pointing down at us.
“Coretta has a boyfriend! Coretta has a boyfriend!”
The chants grew louder as a few more kids circled us.
“She’s not my g-girlfriend,” I stammered. I looked to Coretta for some assistance, but she just stood there looking down at the ground. “Coretta’s got a boyfriend! Why don’t you kiss her, mister boyfriend?”Dr. Gundry reveals the top 3 common foods that you would have never guessed were the cause of your fatigue.
“I’m not her boyfriend!” I shouted. I ran up to Coretta and gave her a slight shove; she staggered back and looked up at me, but still said nothing. “Leave me alone!” I shouted again. And suddenly Coretta was running, faster and faster, until she disappeared from sight. Appreciative laughs rose around me. Then the bell rang, and the teachers appeared to round us back into class.
Breitbart’s Big Journamalism also has the report of the aftermath: “No doubt that after expending all that energy bullying an innocent little girl, young Obama readied himself for round two by eating a Golden Retriever.” Hyuck! Yeah, screw the election. IMPEACH. [Big Journalism via Wonkette super-operative “chascates”]