And in Washington… Nicolle redefines the promise of The Ark

It’s no longer an Arc, and it is now re-nomenclaturized to The Rainline, and she did, IT!, on Deadline. Prisms everywhere are concerned, with good reason because light benders everywhere don’t know what is going to happen to future re-mastered copies of The Dark Side of The Moon.

Un–curve your enthusiasm

Un–curve your enthusiasm 🏛EFCEC32F-E42E-4FC2-B852-20C4B81B0419 🏚 FLOTUS has done, IT!, again. In the final stretch of the Presidential Election the executive housewife joined forces with vice-president Pence and together those two confiscated the Rainbow and took it upon themselves [to prescribe to the optical mirage] a  straightening re-programming therapy in an effort to pander to the undecided “Kentuky kluky” vote. The FO’ist to complaint were The IRISH arguing that the first housewife has no right to fuck with and Eye quotes, “fuck Mí Lucky Charms”.

After the break it’s Time for “Super Mansions of The Rich”, the leading magazine for American-style castles trends. In this edition, P.M. Joy reviews Melania’s new executive STOREfront awnings.

But FO’ist:

Vámonos pues a “La Chingada
y que
Chingue a su madre
Pancho Villa y sus Duarades
de La Sorbonne

And In Mexico, Jacoff (it’s prönounced Jacob) Soberoff is traveling to Palenque, in the former Guatemalan territory that the most piss-on guest at the Cemetery of Montparnasse¹ in France (off-course) confiscated from the Chapines² (no-less) in the same fashion that Andrew Jackson made of Texas (in 1836)  an independent republic and later, (in 1845) James KNOX Polk would recognized The Lone Star as the mostexceptional and pampered” state of “a more perfect” RACIST Union. Come along, Avi Velshi, it’s the end of the official Summer (pandemic) of 2020Yeah Buddy!

https ://history .state .gov /countries /texas

https ://www .jornada .com .mx /ultimas /politica /2020/09/04 /viaja-amlo-a-su-finca-en-palenque-chiapas -7459.html

Issy, doña Mueller de AMLO, ‘íjese que en Los Hilos de Hawaii, las tangas de Sasha se cruzan con los hilos de la Tia Tati Clouthier, en Santa Qtarina, off–course, y por estos lares son las 11 horas (en los dos meridianos del reloj) aunque usted, marchantita, no lo crea.

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