WEARY STORY LINES

I've become weary of the pathetic story lines that fill up the newspapers and other publications I subscribe to. I couldn't care less about a drug addicted child molester meeting his demise with a "hot dose" administered to him by the dermatologist who disfigured him.

I care even less about our half breed President giving a speech at the NAACP. I care even less than that about some "wise Latina" fielding bullshit questions from idiots who wear suits to work to try to disguise their hypocrisy.

In Chicago, we have a tin man who calls himself mayor who has raped the city blind and is now attempting to shove the 2016 Olympics down our throats. In our county, we have an illiterate moron who couldn't connect the dots in a Sunday cartoon section in charge of the 17th largest economy in the United States.

You read that right: Toddler Boy Stroger , President of the Crook County Board, State of Illinois, USA, is personally in charge of the 17th largest economy in the United States. This little schmuck can't even find his way around his own bathroom without a road map!

Yet, he's in charge and wants more of your hard earned money so he can go to dinner at swanky downtown steakhouses and hire violent felons as chiefs in important departments. Toddy Boy doesn't even possess the skill sets necessary to be an effective busboy, and we hired him to balance a $12 billion checkbook. Are we all daft?

Are we all that freaking stupid?

Some wise man said once that we get the government we deserve. Excuse me, but I don't think I deserve a sputtering Irishman spouting nonsense into my face about how it was a good idea to sell off bridges and parking meters for the next 100 years. I don't think I need an illiterate nigger threatening Carol Marin with a coffee cup full of booze on the set of "Chicago Tonight" telling me that we'll all die if he doesn't get his tax increase. I don't need a Polock from the south side introducing legislation on the size & weight of carry-on luggage on airplanes.

I most certainly don't need a little Napolean Italian gangster as the mayor of my town, but that's what I got, thanks to a humptdy dumpty who didn't listen to people who knew how to turn the tide in his favor.

I could fill several clown cars in several circuses performing in several venues with the clowns & their accomplices I have profiled here. My initial shock, dismay, anger, and rage has now evolved into resolve.

My seething anger is evolving into resolve. I resolve to ridicule every single one of these bastards and the people who empowered them until I take my last breath.

Look for Clown Car Magazine, coming to a Chicago street corner near you.

Soon.

I'm mad as hell, and I'm not gonna take it anymore.

Johnny