Written by Sweetblktemptation

Sunday, 16 December 2012

"He is fat and a fool. Don't listen to governor Christie. He doesn't know what he's talking about..."

Said the large castrated pig Shark Rush Limburg, bellowing angrily into his long-suffering microphone, unsure of his surroundings. He had just flushed several large pork sausages, together with 18 stuffed Jalapenos down his deep throat, greased with a humongous goblet of snail slime soup five minutes earlier, but he was still feeling a considerably peckish. He snatched a large bottle of vodka nearby and he plugged his pie-hole with the thing as he swigged half the contents noisily while making the most inhuman gurgling sound in his throat. [Hic] He sneezed, coughed and punctuated his spasmodic breathlessness with two grunts, Oink! oink! Eyes blood red, Sharky [as he prefers to call himself] yanked the stained white bib off his neck and flung it to the ground.

Shark Rush Limburg had been binging on a diet of cocaine, J├Ągerbomb, Vodka and Speed for three days straight, with the regularity of a Neanderthal all razzed up. He occasionally diversified this Bacchanalian menu by repeatedly diving into a mountainous plate of assorted meats, cakes and pies on the side. There was no particular reason for the binging; his explosive temperament meant his pie-hole needed to be stuffed continuously to calm his frayed nerves.

Shark Rush Limburg's small cubicle was too tight to accommodate his wide girth. It was also dim and dark. with a cloud of smoke circulating over his bald head, that he puffed from a fat cigar that left his mouth only in order to accommodate food. The results were showing -- Shark Rush Limbaugh looked like a beached albino whale with glazed eyes and an obese head. He had no neck or hair. Rush was not a beautiful man and even he knew it.

He thumped his desk with the magnum bottle of Vodka angrily -- setting every gadget in the smoke-filled cubicle rattling noisily like a cheap overused fan. Sharky Rush Limburg looked about him like a caged animal before attacking his desert -- an assortment of greasy deep fried chicken, pork, moose and ribs with his bare hands. He stuffed the contents into his reddish face and began the inelegant process of chomping decaying poultry noisily. He bit his tongue in the process but he did not notice it. Shark Rush Limburg was disabled of physical pain [except on his tongue and lips] or human feeling. He lived for hatred and anger alone. At this moment, his temper was short and his nerves were frayed.

Wiping his sweaty forehead with a stained towel at his elbow, he paused briefly to let out a fart and a belch simultaneously -- while his bloated jelly belly grumbled loudly. Apparently Shark Rush Limburg's dinner was begging to be let out through his rear. An ugly image caught his eye.
"Fat Bastard," he swore and shook a large clenched fist at it. He was breathless, restless, and dazed -- oblivious of the fact that the ugly image he'd been staring at and insulting vociferously was no other than his own reflection in the mirror.

He had seen a fat person and only one person came to his mind -- Governor Christie, his latest hate target. The governor had become his latest bugbear for obvious reasons -- committing crimes against the Teaparty! Collaborating with the enemy President Obama in a time of national emergency. When more pressing matters like attacking the Democrats demanded his undivided attention, the governor had sided with the enemies to help victims of the God-given hurricane Sandy. He began to sweat profusely from a flush of internal heat, perspiration dripping by the bucketfuls down his large back. He was loosing his breath, his senses and his voice at the same time, but he mustered the last ounce of energy from a deep corner of hate within himself to blurt out...

"You're a fat irrelevant hate-mongering spineless fool... Global warming is caused by your toxic farts...you moppet..." he repeated in his characteristic thunderous voice that echoed back at him like the bark of a rabid bulldog's.

As the effects of the cocaine gradually cleared from his dunderhead, the wind-driven Shark Rush Limburg's vision improved slightly. A look of total disgust covered his ugly face --For the first time, the bloated buffoon became conscious of his environment as a powerful smell attacked his hairy nasal regions. Scrunching his nostrils, he looked about him as the realization hit him full in the gut-- he was sitting in a combo of his own bodily excretions -- solids, liquids and gases!

Shark was not surprised to see a piece of onion in his retch -- "That was yesterday's dinner"!! He muttered to himself. He sighed and chased a leaf of lettuce off his lips with his tongue. He wondered aloud whether to have supreme pizza for his second desert or just another set of spare ribs. Picking up a fat lit cigar the size of his large thumb, the buffoon shoved the wrong end into his pie-hole, before leaping in horror at his dreadful mistake to squeal.
" I hate myself! I hate my life. Why does everyone hate me so?"

The hog Shark Rush Limburg was jarred from his narcotized stupor awake. The lit end of the cigar burnt his thin lip and it instantly swelled up to an angry looking blister. Rising like a hurricane, he jumped up in anger and pounded the table several times with his huge fists.

"Life Sucks, Christie! I fucking hate you idiot. You're a fluke and a slut. Sandy the fluke, slut, slut, Sandra Slut!." He looked angrily into the mirror, his eyes bloodshot. His eyes landed on his trusted rifle which he kept at arms length on his desk. He grabbed it. With the perfect aim of a marksman, he fired a clean shot that penetrated the image's forehead via the right brain.

He brought his huge fist down and thumbed the mirror image, shattering it to smithereens, before collapsing in a huge heap on the floor in despair. He had also collapsed into his own grime. Blood oozed from a gap in his forehead, where a shad of glass had got him. His lit cigar fell onto his trouser leg and started burning a hole into it. In a fit of anger, Shark Rush Limburg had passed out instantly. He will wake up hours later, to discover that his food had disappeared.
Just another day in the life of an angry old disappointed and bitter buffoon.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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