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Unzipping his pants, President Bush took out his half-tumescent cock and rubbed it on the [Vietnam Memorial] wall. "Yeah," he said as he became fully rigid. To him, the wall at that moment was just a pair of spread-eagled legs, like the legs of a slave girl, the haunches of a rotting corpse in the jungle, held open, just calling for a fucking. Propping himself awkwardly in the cleft, hands pressed against the sides, he began thrusting away, fucking right into the heart of the names of those who, to him, lost the war and disgraced America, yeah, they just had to lay there and take it, 'cause this goddamn wall should be twice as fuckin' large so that we could have taken down Pol Pot, Pol Pot, Pol...
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After all he's put us through with Iraq, now he has the balls to spit on graves of those who had their lives squandered in another misbegotten war. A war that he and his henchmen did their goddamnedest to avoid. Motherfuckers. Every last one of them.
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