STROM THURMOND MURDERED BY SHOCK OF SUPREME COURT INTEGRATIONIST SODOMY RULING:
PRESIDENT DECRIES JUDICIAL SLAYING OF HEROIC SENATOR
Emergency Statement by the President

THE PRESIDENT: Please be seated. I would say "good morning," but I cannot, for
today comes on the heels of one of the darkest days in the entire history of
our great Christian nation. Yesterday evening, heroically spry ladies man and
pillar of inclusiveness Senator Strom Thurmond was brutally murdered by a
deranged and sickening United States Supreme Court ruling.

For those of you who don't know the background on this case, "Lawrence v.
Texas," I'll give it to you right now. Back in September of 1998, while I was
still Governor of Texas, I explicitly told my state prosecutors that any jail
cells not already occupied by colored fellas too poor to buy real cocaine
instead of that really disappointing crack stuff should be immediately filled
up with anybody suspected of hot man-on-man ass sex. So out they went in
Houston, and it wasn't too long before they busted in on this white Catholic
priest-lookin' fella named Lawrence doing it homo style with Lamar Latrelle
from Revenge of the Nerds. Of course, after being allowed to climax, they were
arrested, convicted of breaking God's Texas law, and placed in prison where
they could be sodomized in a controlled environment.

Now almost five years later, the same Supreme Court which somehow had the
wisdom to crown me, has trumped last year's horrible ban on the execution of
retards with this, a full-out green light for rampant same-sex and MIXED RACE
cornholing and rugmunching. And let it be known that this ruling, once expelled
from the loins of the Court's traitorous Republican-appointed geezers, wafted
like a moist, noxious fart over our nation's capital all morning. By the
afternoon, it had caught a stiff breeze that carried that putrid cloud all the
way down to South Carolina, where is seeped into the lungs of Thurmon,
asphyxiating him with its vile liberal stench.

Now I know it's not proper for men folk to weep like a toddler girly baby who
done dropped her pure, vanilla ice cream cone on a sizzling-hot patch of filthy
black asphalt, but upon hearing the tragic news of this cold-hearted killing, I
fell to my knees and turned on the water works. I'm sure it was the same with
you.

As I mentioned in my speech at his 100th birthday party, Senator Thurmond was a
soft-spoken champion of individual rights, like the right to string up your
Nigra neighbor if'n he so much as spits a watermelon seed across the street
from your wife. He bravely resisted the second invasion of the south by the
Union Army – or as sissies call it, the "Civil Rights Movement." Indeed,
Senator Thurmond believed every white, heterosexual Christian soldier has a
right to happiness – and if happiness includes not having to imagine what
sordid, dog-like rutting goes on behind the closed doors of anus-worshipping
Broadway man-starlets, then so be it. Because Senator Thurmond believed that a
Southern Reb's right to swing his fist begins when someone different tries to
mess up the nice world Jesus bestowed upon the righteous, and ends when whoever
that someone is – be him queer, black, chinky, jew, liberal, or some
mongoloid pedophile moooo-latto – gets his mouth bashed in with a big brass
belt buckle that reads "SHUT UP ******!"

Of course, while I am very disappointed in the High Court, I nevertheless
respect the institution and accept that I must wait for voluntary retirements
before packing it with Antonin Scalia clones. Therefore, even though they may
have murdered Strom, I am committed to preserving the safety of those liberal
justices I despise. Because I know that the world can be a dangerous place.
I've seen the way Ruth Bader Ginsberg's little lady shoes sometimes slip on
those steep, shiny marble Supreme Court staircases. I've seen the way that the
brake cables on David Souter's Toyota Avalon are worn to near thread-bare. And
I've seen the way that Sandra Day O'Connor's Georgetown home sits inside a four
block blast radius from the nearest underground natural gas routing conduit.
But I digress.

In closing, let us take some small solace in the knowledge that Strom has
ascended to heaven on a shaft of white light, where at this very moment he is
lying supine on a downy-soft ivory cloud, surrounded by a harem of nubile
teenaged South Carolina beauty queens who are taking turns massaging his sore
muscle and feeding him luscious strawberries dipped in white chocolate, and
where there are NO mixed race homosexuals giving each other illicit, steamy Hot
Carls in the privacy of their own garage sex dungeons. We're sure he's having a
grand old time. We'll miss you, Strom old buddy.

God Bless America.




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