Bick Skruth is an experienced racer, author, and weasel decongester. He has asked us to publish the following statement which, after carefully reviewing his writer’s agreement and consulting our attorney, we realized we are contractually obligated to do.
Hello, only people the media would give a hand-carved crap about if they had even a whore’s eyelash worth of sense but they don’t! Your favorite auto writer is here with an important announcement, and I wanted to tell you first:
I am going to be Donald Trump’s running mate in the 2016 Presidential election*.
Perhaps you’ve noticed, but the similarities between me and The Donald go way beyond our awesome hair and the totally hot chicks we like to be seen with so as to imply that any woman with a full and working set of senses would consider any form of intimacy with us beyond riding in the same elevator. (Batdinglers.) Donald and I are the only guys with chrome-clad cojones big enough to tell you what’s really going on. That pissant John McCain? Dude, I was saying years ago McCain wasn’t a war hero. Actually, I might have been talking about this other guy who kicked my ass at a really intense autocross, but it’s hard to remember. I was pretty drunk. Dickminers.
Anyway, my point is that Donald Trump’s politics are just like my driving: Big, loud, out of control, and probably not as good as he makes them out to be. And IN YO’ FACE, chickendigglers! In yo’ FACE!
Besides, his daughter is totally hot, and I bet The Donald would let me try to bang her. Or at least ask her for autographed picture to look at while I massage the munchkin. Not that I’d expect her to say yes, but I’ve been turned down by hotter chicks. Actually, I’ve been turned down by most chicks. Assbakers.
Not that any of this matters, because the world of politics is dead. All the voters care about are lame-ass issues like how they will provide for their families as the government freely allows their employers to send their jobs overseas and how they will avoid losing their homes if they get sick and can’t afford to pay their medical bills. No one cares about what is really going on, like rapists coming across the border and Catholics eating crackers and whatever else Mr. Trump was talking about that I would have been paying closer attention to were I not busy staring at my hot-ass girlfriend’s fake enormoboobs in the hopes that one of these days she’ll let me touch them without putting down a sizable security deposit. Trussfilcher.
My point is that everything you see, from horizon to horizon, north, south, east and west, is as useless as a dildo in church, and all of you are too stupid, selfish and senseless to see what’s really going on. All of you, that is, except for my readers, who are the most guitar-awesome, lightning-shit-slick creatures in the universe.
Weaselmankers.
* President Trump hasn’t actually asked me to be his running mate yet, but I know that as soon as he checks his email and sees the two dozen messages I’ve sent to him, he will.
You can read more of Bick Skruth at TrueShitAboutCars.com.
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