The International Nuclear Girlie-boy Pole Dance Face Off:

The International Nuclear Girlie-boy Pole Dance Face Off:

Whoa, there buddy. Not bashing anyone.  Just an observation.

When in your wildest nightmares did you forsee this:

Bath-house, shirtless, leather-slappin' "Village-Voice Vlad," that sleazy KGB-GRU spy, turned Ruskie Prez  (who neo-soviet agents quietly whisper about in those stenchy Kremlin toilets, scuttle-buttin' about how he's girlie-boy'd the entire Russian Intel Networks) "Putin" himself up as a Nuke missile totin' macho-man, against the world's foremost purple panty-waist, "gonna-preach-da-gay-rights-rap to Muslims," Bong'in-Barry-O'Bam-a-boomer?

They were two flamboyant fairies, with nuclear arse-anals (my bad) butchy bashin,' and twerkin' each other with their nuclear pinkies in the Middle East Sand-pit, while the lanky Syrian Assadd Arab Dandy pranced and pouted a-la-desert pirouette.

Then came the tutu-tootin,' Scary Fairy Kerry, lifting up the skirt of every Arab he could find, dancin' sheik to sheik until the desert dawn, pining for a pawn to pull Barracko's twitching, twerking toes out of the camel drop he stepped in.

What a show.

Rumor has it there's a spot in Vegas for the Vlad and the Barracko, when they're done with their politico gig; there or San Francisco.

Can you just imagine what the oil drenched, robed, desert Princes are wondering?  "What in Hussein just happened?"

While they were watching fairies fumble, suddenly there's not just one flotilla floating there, but three: The Russians, The Chinese, and Thee!

Can you just hear them say?  "Hey Ahmed.  How is it now, that we're surrounded?"

Hey, there's a desert table they can sit around!

Three super-powers, at each others' throats, instead they turn and see:  Al-Qaeda, pointing pointers at all three.

What if they sued for Peace instead of World War Three?

D-amn.

Would that the fairies had the wisdom, and it came to be.

Shall we now hold our breath and see?

Or are the fairies too far gone for thee?