Al Franken, the democratic grab ass just about quit his job today but he had to finish reading and learning about the legacy history of trailer park dick Bill Clinton and his trash wife Hillary Clinton. Just making it up - a fictional tale - you can only hope.
The Democrat Al Franken really did bad quitting his job as senator for playing wet finger grab ass with girls, sleeping or awake.
It seems the democrats have a slippery dick problem going way back to FDR and his bitch, Kennedy boys - that fu.cked anything at moved that didn't drown but Bill Clinton and crooked Hillary gets the cake..
Hillary Clinton, family brainchild, bitch wife and lousy mother, proudly fucked the family pet called "Pit" in the back of the covered wagon,
It amounted to some kind of trail boss luxury, getting laid by a big black man in the middle of the day, that fur padded wooden seat plank at the front of the wagon saved her ass from splinters but not Pit's good work, the strong canvas cloth stretched overhead to kept the sun off Hillary but she still closed her eyes, she never truly liked Negro's , it was 1864 and the wagon train of many was pointed due North away from the war. Hillary didn't care at all, she was enjoying another type of ride... the life she called it.. the owner of a plantation.. a life gone forever.. the blue bellied yankee's were killing thousands...the Clinton's planned to run away.. due north.. forget dixie and change sides..
During the Civil War you couldn't buy much of anything in the South so belongings were limited and private homes were looted and burnt down by union blue soldiers. Southern people lived in squalor, mostly sleeping outdoors or packed into a muddy tent like sardines. It was common now to see a nig.ger walking away from farms with some kind of cloth knapsack on a willow wood pole.
Many people survived this Civil War simply by changing sides always depending on the outlook of a current local battle between the two armies, one of the North, and one of the South seemingly inadequate from day to day.
It was clear as day now, you had the two extremes, the luxury of winning or the privation of the losing side living with a long rifle in reach, tasteless rations of some kind, a canteen full of stream water and always hiding, making yourself smaller.
The Northern Government Army of General Grant was everywhere it was reported and before some high ranking Yankee Government Colonel kicked the doors in and burnt down the Clinton Plantation the Clinton's would change sides by moving North as the Union Army fought their way South.
The mapmaker had made several marks on the cloth map and Bill Clinton always kept it tucked inside his shirt, knowing the way was always the secret to keep.
The mapmaker even "x" out the battlefield areas the best he could, the ground to avoid as reported by Southern Military surveyors returning from the North.
Bill Clinton steered his team of two horses, walking them slowly in the middle of the day, the sun blocked from his eyes by the canvas top over his head and it was hot as July even though it was only May. His right boot sat on top of his painted wooden footlocker that had two leather side handles to carry the weight, the wooden box carried his pistol and holster, a small silk Confederate battle flag and seven cloth coin purses full of gold coins.
He had several footlockers loaded in the wagon, a few with leather billfolds that contained his paper money and his riding horse was tied to the back of the covered wagon, efficiently following the tug of the rope with its eyes closed.
Bill Clinton had examined his position on his map that morning as he was told of a raging battle to his North East and the impression given to Bill directly by a rebel soldier was that General Lee of the South was being repulsed by the Union Army.
Bill had already seen dead infantry men from the South literally tossed in ditch graves as wounded rebels moved South even as the magnificent Army of General Lee dug rifle pits as his Army killed thousands of Union men.
The unrelenting war would take everything if the Clinton's tried to stay on their land so the circumstances made the plan, get out of the South, change sides but take the Dixie reader with them, even if you had to hide it away.
In classic style, Mrs. Bill Clinton sat in the back of her covered wagon with her expensive printed books and was wasting more good ink writing new books that would be passed around between her Southern Lady friends with no commercial triumph.
Her wagon team driver went by the name of Pit Branson and all day long he would follow Bill Clinton's wagon, never talking to Mrs. Clinton because Pit knew that he must ask GOD to help him as the studious Mrs. Hillary Clinton spent no time spoiling nig.gers, at least that's what she preached to her women friends.
Pit knew that Mrs. Bill Clinton liked his shade of color and young firm body as she would often times supervise him washing and cleaning. Pit was appreciated for a colored slave man by the colored women also as they knew he could read and inspire smart and strong children.
Pit Branson had his childhood education provided by his master Bill Clinton and had mastered the speller books and the grammar manuals and had completed his GOD fearing Confederate education as a Southern Slave, and was the supervisor of all the other slaves and was allowed to speak plainly to White Master Bill Clinton when they were alone.