Che-Che-Che-Changes...

Ola.

It's me, Ernesto, but you can call me Che, everybody does. Especially the big red guy with the horns and the pitchfork who keeps rotating the the cactus that's lodged in my rectum and pouring in the hot sauce. Today is Scotch Bonnet day... not nice.

I guess I'm supposed to thank Vox Poplar and his digital ouija board for getting me a few minutes from my damnation to post this blog-thing, but he's a North Americano capitalist swine, so screw him.

But I would like to thank the Barack Obama's campaign workers in Texas for this...
Yep, that's me hanging in the Texas campaign office of the Democratic Party's front-runner Barack Obama. I have to admit, I found the picture so funny I almost pissed out the fire that regularly roasts my genitals into leathery cinders.

Boy, only someone who doesn't know shit about me would allow my picture to appear on anything but toilet paper.

I was a warmonger who is idolized by so-called pacifists.

A homophobe praised by gay rights activists.

A pompous elitist snob now seen as a working class hero.

A sexist worshipped by feminists.

A racist admired by civil rights activists.

A mass murderer who is hailed by death penalty opponents.

A coward who is thought of as a hero.

Essentially, I was a minor league Hitler or Stalin wannabe, and that's why I'm where I am today. I even screwed the economy which was actually in good shape before I came along, because I was basically an idiot.


Oh, crap.

I gotta go, it's almost time for them to shove flaming hot pokers up my nose and rotate my cactus one more time.

So in closing, you lefties should probably stop worshipping me, because for every T-Shirt with my face on it, I get a hemorrhoid the size of a monkey's fist.

Give a guy a break.