Via Ace.

Mo. State Fair bans rodeo clown who mocked Obama

The Missouri State Fair on Monday imposed a lifetime ban on a rodeo clown whose depiction of President Barack Obama getting charged by a bull was widely criticized by Democratic and Republican cowardly pissants wetting themselves while sucking on the Royal Shlong officials alike.

His Imperial Majesty is surprised that they didn’t pull out the pillory, tar and feathers too while they were at it. How dare he? Insult His Most Glorious Majesty, Barack Hussein the Lightbringer Obama? In America???

The rodeo clown won’t be allowed to participate or perform at the fair again. Fair officials say they’re also reviewing whether to take any action against the Missouri Rodeo Cowboy Association, the contractor responsible for Saturday’s event.

Don’t worry. The IRS, NSA, FBI and DHS are right on that shit like stink on a ghetto.

Numerous Missouri officials denounced the act after video and photos were posted online. Some Democratic Missouri lawmakers suggested Monday that there should be financial consequences for the fair.

Not to mention forced labor, confiscation of assets, reeducation and possibly the firing squad!

Those were, you will remember, the same Democrat National Socialists who spent eight years yawning while they and their ProgTard drones were masturbating furiously to assassination fantasies about George Bush. But, of course, Bush wasn’t a deity made man, the greatest orator of all time, the smartest man to ever be born and the savior of all mankind, so there is that.

Diff’rent strokes for diff’rent folks and all that.

But OK, America, if that’s what you want. You know, the whole nobility, royalty, castes, “betters” and plebes racket, could you at the very least do it fucking right?

Because, you see, we, Our Imperial Majesty Misha I, come from a place where we’ve been rocking that whole noblesse deal like Woodstock for so long we don’t even remember when we started it. We’re fucking fluent when it comes to primogeniture, blood lines, new money vs. old money, low nobility versus high nobility, landed nobility vs. freemen and so on and so forth and, if you’ll pardon us while we retch from having even used those words again, we thought we’d gotten away from all of that. Obviously we were mistaken. And if there’s one thing that annoys His Majesty even more than watching what used to be a free nation of equals who couldn’t give less of a shit about that nonsense if they tried really hard going all ga-ga over it, it’s watching the buffoons doing it all wrong.

It is, to put it bluntly, like watching a bunch of monkeys trying to fuck a football. So knock it off or do it right, because you wouldn’t like us if we got really really annoyed with you. Don’t make us come down there, kids!

But, we’re here to help, so where to start. Let’s take a look at your Anointed One, your Lord and Master against whom nothing bad may be said, and let’s follow the rules this time, shall we?

First off, he really doesn’t have much of a blood line, does he? We know about blood lines, although ours isn’t much of one where we come from but we have one. Granted, tracing it much past the 14th century gets a bit hazy, but apart from that it’s pretty solid. But still, ours isn’t much of one, but we’re proud of it nonetheless. Won’t get us a crown where we come from, but at least it’s tied to land. Your King Whathisface, on the other hand?

Using ourself as a frame of reference, by the time our lesser line was solidly established, his father’s line were pissing their loincloths while huddling around a campfire, hoping the tree/rock/fungus/toadstool spirits weren’t going to eat them. As to being landed, there might be a pile of elephant dung that still bears his name somewhere, but that’s being very charitable. His mother’s line? Seriously. Who even knows? According to what we were able to learn, she was the issue of a hodge-podge of G-d knows what, but it would seem like half of Europe was involved in knocking her ancestors up at some time. Oh, and she’s apparently the sixth cousin, five times removed, of Wild Bill Hickock. A common drifter. Impressive. Not.

Now don’t start screaming at us. We didn’t insist on playing by those silly obsolete rules, but it appears this nation has decided to, so let’s follow them shall we? Personally we find Wild Bill to be a fascinating, impressive individual, we always have, but he seriously wouldn’t pass muster as far as noble birth and blood lines go. Nor does it give you any claim to anything and, even if it did, as a sixth cousin five times removed? Yeah, Barry might be 379th in line to an outhouse in Kansas.

No, he actually wouldn’t. You see, still following the rules here, that’s all on his mother’s side which means that he has no claim to any of it. Unless every single paternal issue of his maternal line happened to drop dead, of course. But that’s a long shot. Sure, he can claim to be a descendant of that line, but that, according to the rules, along with a few pieces of silver, will get him a bowl of gruel. At the servants’ table.

So “noble birth” is certainly a bust. He’s about as common of a commoner as they come. A no-note tribesman on one side and a horrid mix of every European with a cock or a womb on the other. Oh, and don’t get us started on the communist leanings of his mother’s side. That is definitely a no go. But we’re sticking with the blood for now.

Then there’s the “tiny” issue of his birth. No, not where he was born or not born, that’s wholly irrelevant. He could have been born in a back room of a Bangalore whorehouse if he was of any note. No, it’s the fact that he’s a bastard. Or we should be more specific as his mother and father were actually de facto married when he was born; the problem was that his father was already married, leaving his “marriage” to his mother null and void. Which means he’s a bastard. Which, we assure you, is not a Good Thing™. Read up on history if you want a quick summary of just how high a regard bastards are held in under The Rules™. Short version: Somewhere between pig dung and the clap.

Practically speaking, it means that he can’t call himself “Obama.” It also means that even if his drunk-driving, polygamist paternal ancestor did have any claim to anything, he wouldn’t have a claim to it. None whatsoever. He would be known as “Barack the Bastard.” No, not “Barack Hussein the Bastard”, because his middle name implies, usually, maternal ancestry and, last we checked, “Stanley Ann Dunham” doesn’t have a “Hussein” in it. And who but a complete peasant would name their daughter “Stanley” anyway, but we digress. Now, granted, you technically have a sort of a claim to any name in your legitimate blood line (and remember, children, “bastard”=”illegitimate”), but we can’t really imagine very many “Husseins” in the Dunhams’ family tree. It would have to be their last name to qualify.

So, Barack the Bastard it is.

Now, of course, it is not unheard of for a bastard to establish a blood line of his own. Very rare, but not unheard of. But even when it is done, it takes at least half a dozen generations before the stain even begins to fade. But let’s look at the accomplishments of Barack the Bastard, then.

There, that didn’t take long, did it?

“But he’s the president of the United States!”, I hear you peasants howl. Wow. Big whoop. He managed to get himself elected with the votes of millions of ignorant peasants to whom he’d promised about 10,000% more than his pathetic arse could ever hope to achieve. That’s really impressive. Did he conquer vast tracts of foreign land? No. He has managed, if anything, to lose more land to our enemies through his idiocy and incompetence than anybody in history ever lost in an actual fight. Did he bring back a dying nation to prosperity? Bitch, please, this nation is in even worse shape than it ever was when the housing bubble popped. Did he really, ever, at any point achieve anything that the average commoner, given his powers, couldn’t have achieved without even trying?

No, he did not.

So there’s your King Barack the Bastard, America, the one that you can’t even make fun of without repercussions. A no note descendant of peasants also of no note that you wish to worship as the second coming because what, exactly?

We thought you were better than that. We thought that you’d thrown away all of that nonsense and we admired you for it because, quite frankly, it’s all a load of bullshit, but obviously we were wrong. The one thing, among many, the one thing that really, really made us sit up and go “HELL YEAH!”, was the story about the posh wanker British aristocrat with all the right credentials who, meeting a cowboy over here, asked that good, hard working guy to “show him to his master”, to which that cowboy replied, after spitting, “sumbitch ain’t been born yet.”

THAT is the spirit of America, but you fiddy-tooers have obviously forgotten what it’s all about. You yearn for a mommy and daddy who can tell you everything so you don’t ever have to do a damn thing yourselves, you’re the kind of slave pussies that give BDSM aficionados a bad name, and you don’t even know how to do it right. You’re worse than worthless.

You want to play a game that you don’t even know the rules to. We wish you joy of it, and long may you suffer under the reign of your peasant savior.

But count us the fuck out, because you’re a sick joke, followers of Barack the Bastard.


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By Emperor Misha I

Ruler of all I survey -- and then some.

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