There are moments when I feel perfectly comfortable taking the low road. Times when I can quite happily watch my foes fail as they reach for their goal, mere inches from their fingertips, only to stumble, and then fall. I feel no remorse as I stand over them, laughing, and drink their bitter and delicious tears.
Last night, I felt this way as I watched Mitch McConnell weep openly.
Schadenfreude, they call it.
Taking pleasure in someone else's misfortune.
As those salty morsels of satifaction oozed from his sad, sleepy eyes my mouth instantly filled with saliva. As enticing as beads of morning dew running down the skin of a ripe, green apple bathed in the day's first light and diminished not one iota by the crusty jowls down which they currently streamed. I was a man, fresh from the scorching desert, and Mitch McConnell's precious droplets of failure were my oasis.
The look on his dumb, droopy face when McCain gave his thumbs down, immediately making eye contact with the defeated dunce like a boss, was as delectable and decadent a treat as any state fair fare. It was fried iced cream. It was fried cheesecake. It was a funny funnel cake of fantastic fuckery.
Thank you, Mr. McCain.
But where do I go from here?
Will anything ever be as sweet?
Will I ever again be satisfied?
'funny funnel cake of fantastic fuckery.' So good phrase. So good.
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