So, Cousin Joe, before we switch it over to the C–Span’s, I, Armando Segovia, also known by The Préfecture de Police à Cité (75004) by the Mexican Nomenclature of ARMANDO SERRANO-PRIETO, would like to put a little *ASTErisk on your comment about last night’s “Big Meal” before doing the Shut–Eye, which was followed by that dumb country lawyer “told You so” momentary stare of yours. Cousin Joe, PLEASE BE ADVISED, that the very “special” delivery that was sacrificed on the way to our little den at the Forum’s Underground took at least 24 hours to sucummb to whatever was injected into his or hers (not sure what the gender of the little baby rat was… I, Armando Segovia, only took care of the funeral arrangements, “that is to say, EWE know,” that I only placed the little dead motherfuking mouse inside of a decent casket (a Pringles™️ tube) before that specimen went into the McDo Bye–bye bin.
Out of respect to the little animal, no picture-registering was allowed at the scene del Siniestro… but Boy–oh_BO¥, did you know that it was the Very French, who went ahead and installed surveillance at every entrance to The Kids in The Hall, y’all.
NO LOS CREÍA TAN COBARDES
Cobardes no los creía, culeros.
P.S. about the Danglin’ Participle in this REALITY journalism ACT:
Picture this, the syringe was still stuck to one of it’s little pink paws; a paw that was probably bigger than both of Donald Trump’s tiny hands.
Now, about that “Pelusa®️™️©️” ensayo:
Dear, “GlasiRat’s” y “La Machy”… if those are your REAL usernames, Eye disagree with both of you, o como dicen los muy francece–ce–ces—ese en Vera(puta)Cruz: los dos están pendejos y malos del Yo-Yo.
And here’s exhibit ONE:
I. What a PELUSA, is not.
By Armando Segovia de los Serrano y Prieto (SDF—Global) — Mexican Jazzglish, con trocitos de Francés, salpicadas de Portugués, y por supuesto, Sirens, Castellano.
HOY NO HUBO JAZZ
Los dueños de la Hacienda Miranda
bien pudieron seguir considerando
a Tomás Arroyo otra simple pelusa insurrecta desde sus cómodas asociaciones de Ley en Francia,
pero El General Arroyo no era ninguna pelusa.
p 34 Gringo Viejo…
[At this moment —that is to say, Ewe know, Tune–in— to hear a “Dumb Country lawyer” in the voice of Joe Scarbourough shouting Eye—SAY, Eye–Say Eye du “Ob_Ject'”, Monsieur Le President of the Court!].
—ZAT, you REDD FOXX!?
Docket 2400 Fourteenth Street
Washingtoh, D.C.; sin código.
La mirada de Harriet Winslow, [triunfolento para los del Laboratorio en dónde ella “laburaba », según un boludo en la portería del equipo de Los Miranda] encontró la de Tomás Arroyo cuando el general entró MARCANDO al salón de baile (Versailles de Chihahuita) con un fuete en la mano.
La educadora gringa reúne los prejuicios presentes en individuos elevados en el llamado mundo civilizado en dónde los sistemas educativos curtén a los pupilos para actuar ante equís situación de acuerdo a las costumbres but most important, the Way of Life structured by the triunfoLentos that built R O M A in different epochs, not in ONE MOTHERFUCKING DAY.
Pass Interference and Stolen Base at the BOTTOM of the First Down of the midnight hour in Central NATO Times; en Nueva Yol’l son las Seis de La Tarde, and Heidi, please relay to the Purple Pundit that you have been authorized to wear The Color Purple whenever you want. Furthermore, for the forepage, if challenged by Oprah, or Mrs. Goldberg about the wearing of that garb, tell them that “Field Marshal Carlin” signed–off on this general order in accordance to the guidelines and protocols of AR 670–1 change 00110011.
PS. please relay to the elements who took the command decision to light up all the pretty little Doll Houses in pretty pastel hues that the subliminal shots at “PUTUS 45” look Fucking Awesome. I will be sending an invoice for “concept consulting & ideas” shortly, in the mean time, while Donald Trump remains grounding air transportation for all kind of “pelusas,” at all kinds of airports (civilian or otherwise) do keep your squelch in position “On”.