Fuck you, Al Gore

This may sound fashionable, but so what: Fuck you, Al Gore. Fuck you for Iraq, John Roberts, our 3-0 loss at the World Cup, and for Keith Richards falling out of a coconut tree. You're a boorish Southern queen with a Cindy lisp and a hairflip. You're a meretricious ass-slapper and a patrician prick. You have a repellent personality, and your daughter married a proctologist. You ran a cowardly and dunderheaded campaign in 2000 and conceded too easily. And even though your anti-war speeches in 2002 sound in retrospect like the maniacally concise utterings of Nostradamus II, they required little risk and offered no remedy.

Now there is a groundswell of Draft Goreism. And I suppose that if you announced a candidacy tomorrow, I'd still support you, Al Gore. I would. I would consider it my heroic sacrifice. But know this: If a certain vertically underendowed Jewish billionaire from Boston announced the day after tomorrow, I'd drop you faster than a dead cat in high summer. You jerk-off...