We figured televangelist scamster Pat Robertson would have been raptured by now, what with the Gaypocalypse and all. But nah, he is making words, still, on the teevee, with his 213-year-old senile talking hole. Sure, they are mostly nonsense words, because of how he is 213 and also senile. That's why he always has a hapless lady sidekick to explain his answers to the viewing audience at home,
It's been noted before that he's nervous around anyone (or anything) smarter than he is.
Possibly the exact same database also, too.
Hopefully JUST stale and not, you know, really, really fresh.
I'VE BEEN TRYING, BUT THE MAN HAS NO SOUL FOR ME TO TAKE. SORRY, HE'S JUST NOT ON MY LIST.
- DEATH
Nah, he had the stage crew supercharge his wheelchair.
'Lucky bastard!'
I know what she's thinking: 'Wow, cold water DOES make them shrink.'
Jif: for when Fido's just not that into you.
What, no stockings?
Lamb casserole?
Man-on-girrafe? I know everything is supposed to be bigger in Texas, but come on!
Well, I'm not gonna stop talking about my fiancee. OR my Studebaker.
Cuts way down on travel time.
Creflo Dollar will be right over to borrow some of it for his new Gulfstream.
No one gives a hoot about your stupid fiancee.
But please, tell me about the Studebaker . . .
Do a search for "French she-ass" . . .
http://www.salon.com/2013/1...