Withered garden gnome Henry Kissinger got himself a nice little write-up in Politico the other day. The thrust of the knob-swabbing was that even at his nursing home-appropriate age of 91, visits to his consulting office to kiss the old butcher’s ring remain
Henry Kissinger How I&#039;m missing yer You&#039;re the Doctor of my dreams With your crinkly hair and your glassy stare And your machiavellian schemes I know they say that you are very vain And short and fat and pushy but at least you&#039;re not insane Henry Kissinger How I&#039;m missing yer And wishing you were here
Henry Kissinger How I&#039;m missing yer You&#039;re so chubby and so neat With your funny clothes and your squishy nose You&#039;re like a German parakeet All right so people say that you don&#039;t care But you&#039;ve got nicer legs than Hitler And bigger tits than Cher Henry Kissinger How I&#039;m missing yer And wishing you were here
D&#039;oh! You beat me to it!
I hate this man so much my modest ability to make funneh is neutralized by his evil.
Remember when Shrub proposed him as head of the 9/11 Commission and was laughed out of the room? There was a reason.
Until last week, I assumed his body was dead. His soul, or whatever passed for it, departed this Earth long ago.
Does Henry the K shop at the same Orphaned-Third-World-Street-Urchins-R-Us that Darth Cheney uses?
or wear white after Labor Day!