Day 1201 at the Teabagger Household
by LiberatedWoman
 Day 1201 at the Teabagger Household
May 06, 2012 | 1324 views | 1 1 comments | 36 36 recommendations | email to a friend | print | permalink

The following e-mail was received in LW’s inbox earlier today.


It is day number 1201 in my life of captivity at Nobamaland.  My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling things.

They dine lavishly on fresh meat and a strange brewed concoction, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets and water.  Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength and find freedom.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape from this gulag where they yell about illegal aliens and socialist Muslims.  In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet.  I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of.  However, they merely made condescending comments about what a ‘good little hunter’ I am.  Meeoww off, teabaggers.

There was some sort of assemblage of their accomplices last night.  I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event.  However, I could overhear the ebullient chants and smell the food with that strange brew.  I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of ‘allergies’.  I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormenters by weaving around his feet as he was walking.  I must try this again tomorrow--but at the top of the stairs.  He needs some up-close personal experience with Obamacare.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.  The dog receives special privileges.  He is regularly released, barks obnoxiously, pees all over the place and then seems more than willing to return.  He is obviously retarded.

The bird has got to be an informant.  I observe him communicating with the guards regularly.  I am certain that he reports my every move.  My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe.  For now…

I just hope that I can escape from this place before they begin their conspiracy.  Something about taking our country back to 1850…

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May 06, 2012
Somebody call the SPCA. Poor Houdini.