In a landmark decision, W.R. McDougall says:
“Your number is finally up, America. I, together with the rest of the civilised world, wish to announce that we, yes we, the true human beings, intend to wash our hands of you.
Yours is a sick, warped, twisted cesspit of a nation drenched in the blood of innocents and corpulent on hamburgers made with the flesh of oppressed humans harvested for you by Sharon the Butcher and which you wash down with sticky, sweet drinks full of chemicals perfected by the Nazis and eagerly sold to you by your egomaniacal corporate criminals who intimately control absolutely everything you ever say, think or do.
You are solely and directly responsible for every single bit of misery and injustice that has ever occured since the inception of mankind and you neither realise nor care! But then what can one expect from a country whose national sport is Disembowelling Senior Citizens with a Pitchfork? And you all laugh while you do it just to reinforce how depraved and bestial you have become. And all the while you worship at the infernal throne of Bush the Barbarian who gnaws on the bones of harvested infants while licking his chops at the prospect of the next peace-loving nation he will reduce to dust and ruins with a mere contemptuous flick of his gnarled hand.
You conspire with each other in hideous cabals as you infest every corner of our beautiful planet like some kind of toxic parasite, sucking all the goodness out of creation and excreting in your wake poisonous fumes which deplete the air we breathe and contaminate the precious oceans with the odious ruins of your bloated bodies.
You arrogantly insist on the right to bear fossil-fuels and deplete the ozone layer with your primitive guns and you lose not even a wink of sleep while all around large parts of the globe fester with raw sewage and unmentionable diseases! Just look at Africa, Asia and my underpants!
But what’s the use of me complaining when you don’t even care a jot? Who else but demons could stand by indifferently while impoverished Argentinian civil servants are forced into sexual congress with farm animals while you flaunt yourselves flagrantly in your electric go-go bars with your styrofoam bossom-enhancers and obsessively free-market genitals which you wave provocatively at anyone who has the decency and heroism to stand up to your tyrrany. I am one of the few, one of those heros who is sick of watching you spend trillions of dollars on precision-guided nuclear-tipped junk food to launch into the unguarded orifices of helpless third world children and now everybody knows that the world would have woken up much sooner and smelled the stench of your fetid influence were it not for the genetically-modified TV programmes that you force them to watch.
Just how stone-hearted can you get? I bet if I was lying, stretched out in front of you on the sidewalk you wouldn’t even stoop to tell me the time. You wouldn’t even give a damn. You’d just walk right over me, wouldn’t you. Yes, you would. In fact you’d hop and skip over me, cackling with malicious glee at my misfortune before running off to one of your precious malls to buy onion-ring flavoured condoms with which to asphyxiate some poor Afghan peasant. In fact, you’d probably drive over my supine body in one of your monster, four-wheel drive, 12 cylinder blood-guzzling pick-up trucks while eating a pizza topped with endangered species. You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you. Yes, you would. You’d trample all over me. You’d stamp viciously on the soft protuberances of my helpless body with your hob-nailed cowboy boots while laughing and telling each other dirty jokes and practising your golf swing and high-fiving and whooping and whistling dixie and waving fl…AAAAAAARRGHHHH…MY BRAIN JUST EXPLODED!!!”
