It’s not the size of yer hands, it’s what ya do with ’em, and also the size of yer dick. And Don Trump’s done plenty with both, if I do say so myself!
Of course the fake news has it that Justin won the handshake war just because he didn’t get his arm ripped from its socket. Well I’d say at best that’s a draw, wouldn’t you?
You’d think havin’ been a drama teacher woulda helped some, but it’s still an embarrassment to watch him act on the world stage
Our Littlest Trudeau looked like a witless munchkin who lucked out landin’ a speakin’ part in the Lollipop Guild next to Trumpy’s grand ol’ Wiz.
Just pay no attention to the Russian behind the shower curtain. Don’t follow the money – follow the yellow-stained road!
Seems as though everybody with a so-called high school diploma has got the knives out for the Commandant in Chief, which should not only be against the law, but shows ya the true value of a public education.
Like I was sayin’ to a blonde, blue-eyed Canadian lady above suspicion at Rebel Media’s freedom rally the other night, the real Nazis are the ones dead against a final solution to the French problem.
I didn’t hear a “Deutschland Über Alles” or see a single pair of lederhosen in the house, so who are you gonna believe, my lyin’ eyes or Ezra Levant’s? Because that’s the only choice I’m givin’ ya, brother!
Furthermore on the poor man’s side of the border, Stu McLean passed on, just like CBC Radio did.
I was never a fan of his high-brow yarns, but Missus Little enjoyed ’em, and I was guaranteed at least an hour of peace and quiet every Sunday thanks to the man. That’s worth somethin’ in this cockeyed caravan.
I suppose you could say I got a touch of the survivor guilt, but I’m used to it. I’ll bury all of you and yours, whether you like it or not.