a song in my heart

I was wondering today whether it is considered a breach of etiquette to call the leader of another country a rat-fucker or a no good, piece-of-shit motherfucker? I was wondering that because I heard President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran is banning all western music. No, this doesn’t mean he is banning that hillbilly, country and western crap, although it is probably among the music included in his ban. This monkey-fucker is banning all western music. This includes classical music, rock and roll, hip-hop, C&W, jazz and, well, you name it. As an aside, I wonder if it is a breach of etiquette to call this monkey-fucker a monkey-fucker?

First of all, last week this shithead said he doesn’t believe the holocaust actually happened. Now, many of you will point out that we have enough slack-jawed, inbred nazi dickwads here in the United States who say the holocaust never occurred. I would respond that we have enough slack-jawed, inbred nazi dickwads that don’t believe in Darwin, either. But, none of them is ever going to be elected president. Okay! Okay, I stand corrected.

But, anyway, let’s get back to this presidential turd in Iraq. Why is it that when you put a conservative into office, he feels like he has to take away your freedoms one-by-one—a little here; a little there—until none of your freedoms are left. And why is it the people who put him in office are happy to give up their freedoms.

I’ll tell you what. You may have gathered that I’m not a fan of country and western music, and if you read what I wrote a few days ago, you probably figure I don’t have a lot of hip-hop in my collection. While I don’t currently listen to these types of music, if our government, or some other slime ball government bans them, you can bet I’ll become a fan. You can bet I’ll be listening to some cowboy telling me about a love that done gone bad to the strains of a pedal steel guitar. You can bet I’ll be listening to some African-American gentleman describing himself using that word to describe African-Americans that we don’t use. I’ll be singing the following lyrics to a thump-thump-thump accompaniment.

Motherfucker, motherfucker
Motherfucker, motherfucker

You can bet your ass—if you are the kind, like your friend big Dick, who is not afraid to put his ass on the line—that we will let whomever it is know that our freedom is not for the taking. And you may also wager that same part of you anatomy that the only salute we will give the President of Iran is the tall man, right next to the ring finger of our right hand. When a pig-fucker tells us we can’t listen to a particular kind of music, then you know we’ll be cranking up the volume.

Or my name isn’t Dick Clinch.