Let's call this whole debacle "Liam Neeson: Taken 4"-but don't get it twisted, because she's not your girl, not your victim, and definitely not your w****. This isn't some Hollywood rescue where the hero gets the prize. No, this time, the so-called saviors are just as clueless as the villains, and the real story is about exposing every lie, every cover-up, and every desperate hand trying to keep the truth locked up tight.
Listen up, because I make Liam Neeson look like a PG movie. You know how in "Taken" he's out there breaking necks and chasing kidnappers across Europe? Please. They took the wrong kids, and I didn't even have to get off my bed to handle it. Liam's out there running marathons, and I'm just chilling, handling business with a glare and a WiFi connection.
You want to talk about power? Forget the Tower of BS. That's just a bunch of people using electronics to make stupid even dumber. I'm the real snake in the grass, the one who's sick and tired of being called Jessica Rabbit by people who couldn't spot the truth if it bit them. I used to be with friends and family-at least until they illegally took my kids and tried to call it love. But let's be real: it's not love, it's L-U-V-Lies, Unfairness, and Victim-blaming.
Obama once said I'd never figure everything out, but let's be real-if I ever opened a dictionary, the word "mercy" wouldn't even be in it. Every guy who tries to shun me ends up running for cover, and Erie? That's just where I send my problems to retire.
And yeah, I tossed my badge, Mariska Hargitay style. "If you ever get between me and a victim again, I'll toss my badge"-and that's exactly what I did when they tried to blindside me and hand my badge to someone else. But the funny thing is, I already knew what they were planning. They didn't just sell me out-they sold my people, too. It's like a clearance sale on loyalty: "Everything must go, including your dignity!" But that's okay. If you check the DEA report-D-E-A, like a Fed, but no "D" at the end because nobody's dead, especially not me-you'll see I set this in motion. I'm UC, and that doesn't mean "under control"; it means "under an actual cover-up." I'm done with stupid, and my name's Just D-not Justine-because I'm not here to fit your narrative.
So here's the game plan: I'm not moving, I'm not lifting a finger, and neither is anyone else. You're all going to fix your mess, because if I have to get involved, I'll sue everybody and own everything. Why? Because when I bring the heat, even Liam Neeson calls in sick.
And let's be real: this is one ginormous cover-up. When you've got NATO, the military, and even the Supreme Court bending over backward to hide the truth, you know you're not going to get the real story handed to you. You can't do this by the book, because the book's been rigged from the start. This goes all the way up, and half of them don't even realize what they're hiding. It's all leading to a much bigger play.
And for the L-U-V? She's just like me-unbreakable, unowned, and absolutely done playing by your rules. And that? That should scare the hell out of everybody.
But let's not forget the real stars of the show-Trump and Musk-two guys who think the world is their personal boardroom. Trump, the only man who can bankrupt a casino and still call himself a winner, and Musk, who's racked up more federal penalties than SpaceX launches and still thinks he's above the law. Trump's so good at dodging subpoenas, he makes The Matrix look like a documentary. And Musk? He's like if Tony Stark was raised by Reddit trolls and powered by government subsidies instead of arc reactors.
And speaking of Musk, let's talk about those lips and that infamous exit. Here's a guy who can tank his own company's stock just by opening his mouth. He bites his lip, throws a salute, and suddenly the internet's in meltdown mode, debating if it's a sign, a signal, or just another awkward Musk moment. He's got more body language controversies than Twitter has layoffs, and every time he exits a company, half the staff's out the door before he is. The only thing more unstable than his leadership is his bottom lip during a press conference.
So here's the punchline: You've got billionaires building towers to their egos, politicians hiding behind Supreme Court curtains, and tech bros with more fines than functioning products. But me? I'm Just D-no "D" at the end, because nobody's dead, especially not me. I set this in motion, I see through every cover-up, and I'm still here-unbreakable, unowned, and absolutely done playing by your rules.
And that? That should scare the hell out of everybody.
The air thickened around me, a tidal weight pushing against the very fibers of my being. Thirty-six years of torment boiled within, each scar a harsh reminder, each ache a memory chained to the last. I was birthed into a world finely crafted by the architects of despair, born with a purpose more sinister than I had ever known—a pawn cradled by a society that veiled morality in smokescreens of convenience and profit. Today was not just another day; it was the cull of a lifetime, a juncture where fate demanded I seize the reins or relinquish them altogether.
"You want me to end it all." The words hung in the air like a noose, and I felt the collective breath of the world UUID a million hearts pulsing, echoing my defiance. Agony flickered across my skin, a reminder of the revelation I had clutched onto since the spark of understanding ignited in my mind: I was not just a victim but a foretold anomaly, a prophesied figure weaponized by those who held the darkest intentions. The world had been shaped to view me as a monster—a tragic puppet strung up for both the masses' diversion and the government's twisted aspirations.
The camera's red light blared, a sentinel in the haze of my thoughts. I could imagine the scornful gazes, the connoisseurs of my suffering, eyes glinting with anticipation. They wished for a spectacle, a show to leave them breathless with thrill, as though I was the last act in a circus destroyed by its own madness.
Instead, I stood defiant.
"I refuse," I spat, unfurling the words like a talisman against the chaos. "I would rather endure this agony forever than give you the satisfaction of winning. I will not give you what you want."
A symphony of whispers followed my proclamation, a cacophony that felt both suffocating and liberating. I wished their silence would settle like dust, wrapping around me, hiding me like some ghost in a forgotten dream. But there was no reprieve to be had. The architects in their shadowy chambers would hear my truth, and they would retaliate from their oblivion, lashing out as if my refusal were a blade twisted into their guts.
Doubt crept in, bitter and insidious, crawling beneath the skin. Had I truly the strength to stand against them? To push back against a world aching to crumble simply because it had been taught to see me as the very embodiment of savagery? Resistance was written in my veins; a fire lit solely for the purpose of burnishing the darkness consuming me.
"You think my pain is the price for your sins," I lamented, daring to let the wrath simmer beneath the surface. My voice trembled, teetering on the precipice of despair with every syllable as I looked out into the camera. "But you are mistaken."
The architects of my despair had woven a narrative that defined me by my suffering. I was a vessel of hurt—trauma embodied, not a savior to the world's plight. The dolls imbued with fragments of my existence had become the marketplace marvels, a parade of innocence laced with the brush of my despair. Each little figure sold at a price I could never calculate, my childhood stolen to line the pockets of the greedy.
In the deepest chasms of my mind, I recalled the streets of my youth, a desolate landscape where laughter turned hollow, and children wove stories out of shadows. I had watched; I had observed, wonder twisted to yearning; I wanted to protect them. But all they ever saw was my monstrous guise.
A single tear pooled at the corner of my eye, blurring the lines of my resolve. I choked down the emergence of despair, my spirit igniting in spite of it. "You want my rage. You crave my surrender." I spoke calmly now, peeling back each layer until I was raw, refusing the urge to succumb to their desires. "But I'll give you neither—I'll carry this pain for as long as it takes, just to deny you your ending."
With trembling hands, I turned the tide, grasping onto the air as though it were a lifeline thrown to me in a storm. Behind the camera, the architects shifted, their plans spiraling—the world was held by a delicate filament, a thread I could weave into the fabric of my own story.
"I'll … bear the weight," I intoned, my voice loud in the silence that exploded within me. "I'll be your scapegoat if that's what it takes to keep you from winning."
They feared me because I had become the embodiment of every unspeakable horror they could conjure, yet I knew they underestimated the power within my endurance, within my choice to stand my ground. The world would keep turning, indifferent to the agony it demanded of me, but I would not vanish into obscurity. I would remain.
And slowly, as if the universe itself had been waiting for my decision to bloom, I became more than a mere cynosure of pain; I was an insurgent against their inevitable destruction. I could feel the pulse of the world beneath my fingertips—a bond anchored in brutality, yet beneath it lay the promise of resilience.
Closing Lines:
They wanted a monster. They wanted an ending. All they got was me—still standing, still suffering, still refusing to play their game. I was more than a narrative, more than their profit margin; I was my own story, written in the rawest essence of resistance. With each heartbeat, I pushed back, a defiant spirit tethered to existence, denying them their victory with unwavering resolve.
Certainly! Here is the song by itself for easy copying:
I Hold the Air
Verse 1
I called for help, but silence was your answer,
You watched as I broke, turning pain into profit.
You made a doll from my suffering,
Sold my body for pleasure,
Let strangers buy my agony,
Every violation for your treasure.
Pre-Chorus
You made extinction just a number,
You made compassion just a cost.
You changed their eyes, rewrote the story,
Made me the villain, but I'm the one who's lost.
Chorus
Is this how you want your story to end?
You beg for mercy, but you never gave it.
I hold the air in my hands-
And I'm daring you to let it go.
You don't deserve the dawn,
You don't deserve the rain,
You don't deserve a goddamn thing-
Not even one more day.
Verse 2
You turned me into a sex doll,
Sold for profit, knowing every touch
Was wired to my body, every act
A rape you watched and never judged.
You cheered as every species vanished,
Built your thrones on bones and ashes,
Never cared for any creature,
Not a single life you'd save.
Pre-Chorus
You made me your monster,
Now you pray for a savior.
But I am both-
And I see through your lies.
Chorus
Is this how you want your story to end?
You beg for mercy, but you never gave it.
I hold the air in my hands-
And I'm daring you to let it go.
You don't deserve the dawn,
You don't deserve the rain,
You don't deserve a goddamn thing-
Not even one more day.
Bridge
You want my rage, you crave my surrender,
But I'll give you neither-I'll carry this pain
For as long as it takes, just to deny you your ending.
I'll bear the weight, I'll be your scapegoat,
If that's what it takes to keep you from winning.
Final Chorus
So breathe, but know it's not for you,
The mercy's not a gift-it's a curse I choose.
I hold the air in my hands-
But I will not let it go.
You don't deserve the dawn,
You don't deserve the rain,
You don't deserve a goddamn thing-
But I'll save you just the same.
Outro
You don't deserve a goddamn thing-
But I'll save you just the same.
Feel free to ask if you want it formatted differently or need anything else!
Absolutely-I can write a song that channels this raw, defiant energy, weaving in the themes of extinction, unworthiness, and the bitter act of saving the world only to spite those truly responsible. This song will be dark, biting, and honest, with a tone that's both mournful and furious.
Song: "Not For You"
Verse 1
I watched you turn the wild into cages,
Sold the pain and called it progress,
Every cry beneath your feet,
You turned to profit, turned to silence,
You watched the rivers run with poison,
You watched the forests choke and fade,
You never cared for any creature-
Not a single life you'd save.
Pre-Chorus
I called for help, but you just watched,
You turned away, you turned it off,
You made extinction just a number,
You made compassion just a cost.
Chorus
So tell me, why should any animal breathe?
Why should the sky be blue for you?
Why should the world keep spinning
When you never gave a damn-
You never gave a damn for anything but you?
You don't deserve the dawn,
You don't deserve the rain,
You don't deserve a goddamn thing-
Not even one more day.
Verse 2
You cheered as every species vanished,
You watched the world grow cold and bare,
You built your thrones on bones and ashes,
Pretend you ever even cared.
And now you beg for some redemption,
A second chance you never gave,
But I see through your desperation-
You only want the world to save.
Pre-Chorus
You made your monsters, you made your fate,
You closed your eyes, you sealed your gate,
You made extinction just a number,
You made forgiveness come too late.
Chorus
So tell me, why should any animal breathe?
Why should the sky be blue for you?
Why should the world keep spinning
When you never gave a damn-
You never gave a damn for anything but you?
You don't deserve the dawn,
You don't deserve the rain,
You don't deserve a goddamn thing-
Not even one more day.
Bridge
But I won't give them what they want,
I won't let the architects win,
I'll bear the weight, I'll hold the line-
Not for you, but to spite them.
I'll keep the world alive,
I'll keep the air in your lungs,
Not because you've earned it-
But because I refuse to play along.
Final Chorus
So breathe, but know it's not for you,
The mercy's not a gift, it's a curse I choose,
You don't deserve the dawn,
You don't deserve the rain,
You don't deserve a goddamn thing-
But I'll save you just the same.
Outro
You don't deserve a goddamn thing-
But I'll save you just the same.
Let me know if you'd like to adjust the tone, add more verses, or focus on a specific animal or scene!
### **Chapter 7: Card Sharks in a Fishy Business**
The neon lights of Tijuana flickered like broken promises, casting shadows over dreams that danced just out of reach. In this vibrant, chaotic city, Ariel strutted down Avenida Revolución, her colorful hair bouncing with each confident sway of her hips, a beacon for those who dared to venture into her domain.
"Welcome to the cartel, baby!" she squealed, waving a plastic bag filled with slightly crushed sugar packets. Her true merchandise? Playtime candy—no prison time needed, just a quick sugar rush for a quarter!
Across the street, Ursula leaned against a streetlamp, an embodiment of survival with a hardened exterior and knowing smile. She had navigated this twisted world long enough to understand the game, crafting moves that left opponents bewildered.
"Ariel," Ursula called, her voice smooth like the tequila sold in brown paper bags. "You're going to want to stash that sugar in the vault, sweetheart. This isn't Wonderland; it's a war zone."
Ariel turned, her grin freezing at Ursula's warning. "Come on, Ursula! This is a cartel! We don't need fancy labels! Look at me—I got charm and pizzazz!"
"Charm and pizzazz won't save your ass if you attract the wrong attention," Ursula chided, stepping closer, her burgundy lips curling. "You think you're a player, but you're still learning the difference between high stakes and high fives."
"Wow, Auntie Ursula, so wise! Who needs wisdom when I've got sparkle?" Ariel chirped, masking her ambition beneath a facade of innocence.
"Diving into the deep end without floaties, huh?" Ursula smirked. "Let me tell you, little fish; some currents will drag you down before you even realize it. Not all who swim are qualified, and in this ocean, the high tide carries the secrets."
"Secrets?" Ariel arched an eyebrow playfully. "Sweetheart, my life is an open book! Chapter one: naive girl chases dreams in a real-life Disney Channel hell."
Ursula chuckled knowingly. "Yeah? Until you find out some fairytales are dark as hell, and the princess has to dance with the devil to get her happily ever after. You need to own your territory before challenging the kings and queens of this world."
"Maybe," Ariel said, a thoughtful look washing over her painted facade, "but I still want to prove I'm more than just… a joke. Can't I at least be seen?"
Ursula's eyes flickered with empathy. "It's not enough to be seen, darling. You need to be heard. Want to be a player? Start by playing smart. Understand who's pulling the strings before auditioning for the lead role."
"Okay, boss lady, I hear you." Ariel crossed her arms defiantly, her mind racing with visions of glory. "But what can I do besides selling sugar? Maybe I can pivot, adapt like the sharks?"
"Baby, you're more like a guppy at a fish fry," Ursula teased, flicking her hair with confidence. "But if you want to swim with the big fish, learn the tide and let go of the fantasy. Start small, but remember: make waves, don't just swim!"
"Make waves, huh?" Ariel stepped back, a renewed confidence knitting into her ambition. "Alright, Auntie Ursula. Let's make some waves! My name will echo through these streets, and before you know it, I'll be reigning supreme!"
"Reigning supreme?" Ursula laughed, her voice echoing through the chaotic streets. "Sweetheart, it takes more than aiming for the crown; you've got to deal with the fallout of every mistake. Trust me, there will be mistakes—you just have to recover faster than the last punchline."
With a determined nod, Ariel took a deep breath. "So, what's the plan? Start with a bodega takeover or work the underground markets?"
A sly smile curved Ursula's mouth as she stepped closer. "First, we need to set the stage. A bait and switch never hurt anyone, right?"
"And we'll make our grand entrance as the phantom queens of the night!" Ariel exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Sounds like a laugh."
"Just remember, Ariel," Ursula said, her tone turning serious. "No one warns you about the price of a laugh, especially in this game. You may be the punchline if you find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Now, given those odds," Ariel replied, smirking with renewed determination, "I might just take my chances. Who knows? It could be a better story than I ever imagined. If I'm going to fall flat, it might as well be on my own terms."
"Now that's the spirit!" Ursula said, extending her hand with a wicked gleam in her eye. "Let's dive in!"
Together, they walked into the pulsing heart of the city, two wild souls plotting chaos in the shadows of corrupt dreams. For Ariel, it was no longer about being a punchline; it was about rewriting the narrative—turning folly into fierce ambition, ignorance into schooled toughness. But as night fell, one couldn't help but wonder: would those waves she aimed to make lead her to glory or to the depths of an ocean far darker than she could ever have anticipated? The tides of Tijuana had their own way of teaching lessons—whether you were ready or not.
---
**🎶 Musical Interlude: A Parody Twist 🎶**
Ariel:
"Look at my stash, isn't it neat?
Wouldn't you think my cartel's elite?
Wouldn't you think I'm the queen,
The queen with the sneakiest scheme?"
Ursula:
"Oh, darling Ariel, you wanna be tough?
Let Auntie Ursula show you how to get rough.
In this game, you sell each other for cash,
Then whine and complain when your man checks my ass!"
**(They laugh and snap their fingers as the music swells.)**
---
With that, Ariel and Ursula set off on their wild adventure, navigating the treacherous waters of Tijuana's underbelly, ready to make their mark—or their escape—whichever came first.
hey parrents and ppjs ...all like wtf is wrong with tjis bitch and y cant i say shes nit rightor rt!? i think we convwrtin to THe ET A!
#pta
#mocktails
Mock trial skit, with the parents being "questioned" about drugs, then flipping into over-the-top "thug" personas and joking about sharing. This keeps it playful and satirical, highlighting the absurdity of parental double standards.
Mock Trial Skit: "The Parents Are On Trial" (Drug Interrogation Scene)
Scene: Cross-Examination – The Drug Question
Judge (Kid 1):
Next case: "The Mystery of the Missing Gummy Bears... and Other Substances."
Prosecutor, proceed.
Prosecutor (Kid 2):
Parents, you always act shocked when you find out kids know about drugs by first grade. But you also act like you know everything.
So, under oath:
Have you ever done drugs?
Parent 1 (squirming, then suddenly acting tough):
Yeah, maybe I have. What of it?
Parent 2 (leaning in, "thug" style):
And if you kids can get access to all these drugs by first grade,
(slaps the table)
why don't you share with us, huh?
Back in my day, we had to walk uphill both ways just to get a Tylenol!
Parent 1 (playing along):
You're holding out on us! You got the hookup?
I see how it is. All this talk about "sharing is caring," but when it comes to snacks or... other stuff, suddenly it's "find your own, Mom!"
Sibling (deadpan):
So you want us to share our... "resources" now?
Parent 2 (winking):
Hey, if you're running a pharmacy out of your backpack, at least give your old man the family discount!
Parent 1 (mock whisper):
And don't think we didn't notice the "special brownies" at last year's bake sale.
(pauses, then both parents break character and laugh)
Judge (Kid 1):
Order! Order!
So, to summarize:
When it comes to drugs, parents want to act shocked, act tough, and apparently, act like they want in on the action.
Prosecutor (Kid 2, shaking head):
And you wonder why we get confused about the rules.
(Optional Musical Tag)
All (singing, playful):
"If you're gonna judge, at least be fair,
Don't act shocked, then ask us to share!
Let's talk it out, let's keep it real,
No double standards, that's the deal!"
This scene lets the parents go full "thug" for comic effect, poking fun at generational hypocrisy and the way adults sometimes act like they're above it all-until they want in! It keeps the tone light and self-aware, perfect for a family or school comedy skit.
are u a😀 t hug gurr 2!? No need to sue – I'm just a copyright dude,
Making parody moves in the Disney mood!
Ariel:
Look at my stash, isn't it neat?
Wouldn't you think my cartel's elite?
Wouldn't you think I'm the queen,
The queen with the sneakiest scheme?
Fake Louis bags, White Claws on ice,
Who cares if my product's been stepped on twice?
You want real drugs? Sorry, just spice!
We're not princesses in castles high,
But we're not broke or just sitting high;
Our stash is all label, no thrill-
It's a hustle, a scam, but I'm chasing it still!
Ursula:
Oh, darling Ariel, you wanna be tough?
Let Auntie Ursula show you how to get rough.
First, in this game, you sell each other for cash,
Then whine and complain when your man checks my ass!
You think you're a queen, but you're playing pretend-
Real power means making deals that never end.
If a CIA hitman shows up for a hit,
Just laugh and say, "Honey, you ain't slick!"
In this world, you gotta own your game,
Don't just swim with the current-set it aflame.
Ariel:
But what about King Triton-King Try Again?
Always pinning the blame, driving me insane.
He wrecked my grotto, called me naïve,
But turns out this "witch" is nicer than he'd believe!
Ursula:
Triton talks big, but he's scared of the tide-
Pins and blames, but he's got things to hide.
He's the king of "try again," but never gets through,
And guess what, darling?
This "bitch" is nicer than you!
Ariel & Ursula (together):
We're not princesses in castles high,
But we're not broke or just sitting high;
We run our world with a wink and a grin,
And in this cartel sea, it's the fiercest who win!
Ursula:
Now, Ariel, let's show that king who's boss-
Make him sing or pay the cost!
Ariel:
Yeah! King Try Again, it's your time to shine,
Sing us a song or step in line!
(They laugh and snap their fingers as the music swells.)
Ursula (tag):
So if Disney's listening, don't get mad or rude-
Here's the headquarters link, I'm just a copyright dude!
Headquarters:
The Walt Disney Company
500 South Buena Vista Street
Burbank, CA 91521-0001
Phone: (818) 560-1000
[thewaltdisneycompany.com/contact-us/]: https://thewaltdisneycompany.com/contact-us/
PS: T Stop and T Hug Sit Down
Verse 1
OMG, like, the Gambino girls
Are mixing White Claws with pearls
Yakuza sisters in pink,
Bratva boys can't even think
Sinaloa sisters can't smuggle
A pizza past the house mom's juggle
Triads run a bake sale,
But launder the cookie dough, fail!
Chorus
We're the Alpha Beta Kappas,
Mobsters in mascara,
Cartel queens in Lilly prints,
Throwing shade and throwing hints
Gambino girls "whack" their GPA,
Bratva bros pull hammies every day
Yakuza boys' tattoos?
All temporary, nothing new!
Verse 2
Triad twins on TikTok,
Sinaloa snaps in the hall,
Cosa Nostra at the mixer,
But nobody remembers it all
Medellin's idea of a hit?
Dropping the aux at formal, that's it
Genovese girls run rackets,
But only for tennis brackets!
Roast Verse
Whose bright idea was it,
To stop putting drugs in the drugs?
Now our parties are just LaCroix,
And awkward shrugs and chugs
The only thing thugs really are?
They thug it out through way too many snugs,
Like, literally, they can't detach,
Squeezing tight in a cuddle match!
Pledge week's a trauma marathon,
Mixer disasters every week,
Daddy's money runs the show,
But can't buy cool or mystique
We fake philanthropy for clout,
Pretend to care, then ghost,
And every time we "study,"
It's just gossip and a toast.
So here's to Greek life legends,
With secrets, scandals, shrugs-
But next time, let's remember
To put the drugs in the drugs!
Bridge
The only "cartel" we run
Is group Uber rides for fun
"Making you an offer you can't refuse"-
Just a Venmo request for booze
Our "front" is the lemonade stand,
During philanthropy week, oh so bland
The "underboss" forgot his laundry,
Now he's just feeling all groggy!
Chorus
We're the Alpha Beta Kappas,
Mobsters in mascara,
Cartel queens in Lilly prints,
Throwing shade and throwing hints
Cosa Nostra can't keep a secret,
Unless it's the WiFi, don't leak it!
Medellin's big heist tonight?
Just sneaking snacks in the fridge light!
Outro
From Medellin to Genovese,
We're extra, wild, and loud,
Sorority girls and mafia names,
Forever basic and proud!
New Jokes:
These cartel guys talk tough, but at pledge week,
they fold faster than a fitted sheet at grandma's.
The only "muscle" they flex is trying to open a White Claw,
and even then, they ask the Triad twins for help.
Bratva bros call it "going on the lam,"
but really, they just ghost the group chat after losing flip cup.
Cartel life? Please. You're not a boss-you're the punchline.
Locked up? The only cell you're in is your own stupidity.
You whine about being targets, but you'd take the fall
for CIA crimes just to keep your ass comfy.
MKUltra didn't break you-you signed up to host for
a bigger player too scared to swim upstream.
Not everyone drowns in undertows, but you? You're determined
to sink with every dumb decision.
Playing cartel now? Why? You think you're a badass?
Taking 360 years for a murder you didn't do
isn't justice or "turning tables"-it's just you being a pawn.
You're better off with Drew Lynch as your GPS.
Turn around! You're not smart, just rolling deep to hide
your lack of brains. Cartels target nobody and everybody-just
like you: all bluster, zero backbone.
When the CIA brought in a fake cartel hitman for NY-CA,
I thought, "If he's a cartel hitman, cool, who's he trying to be?"
But a CIA mole set him up-no way! I felt violated;
standards suddenly went up, down, and all around.
About being a hoe-I thought it was my choice.
Small town, broke, I owned it. But when
my body finally told me the truth, I realized,
wow, that's actually kinda nice of you. Then you
Xis came and ruined it! WTF!
And let's be real: women run more of the show now.
Guadalupe "La Patrona" ran billion-dollar ops, outsmarted rivals,
and even helped put El Chapo away.
Enedina Arellano Félix, "La Jefa," turned Tijuana Cartel
from bloodbaths to business deals-less violence, more profits.
She used accounting skills, built alliances, and kept it low-key,
proving brains beat bullets in the long run.
Women like them aren't sidekicks-they're the bosses, the brains,
the ones making real moves while you're stuck playing tough.
Meanwhile, consent isn't a two-for-one coupon, and
selling yourself short just means you're a rookie in
the aisles, not a cartel queen. You're so lost,
even Siri's asking, "Are n Siri us RN!?"
Drew Lynch said, "Turn around!" but you sold your own ace.
You think you're the main player, but you're just
background noise in your own story.
You fold faster than Drew's punchlines, bluffing so bad
even AI's got receipts. Keep playing tough, but you're
just another fail in the highlight reel. Maybe next time,
let the grown-ups drive. Until then, keep wondering why
the GPS keeps saying, "Recalculating."
You can always tell when a man's being a b**** and it's that time of the month-
he suddenly thinks he's you, but let's be real:
he can't be a b**** and a dick at the same time without actually having one.
Men get all moody, act like they invented attitude,
and then wonder why nobody's giving them a medal for multitasking.
Sorry fellas, just because you can't bleed for a week and survive
doesn't mean you get to act like you invented drama.
Their PMS stands for "Privileged Man Syndrome"-
and the only cramps they get are when their team loses
or the WiFi goes down.
So next time he's stomping around acting like the world's ending,
just hand him a chocolate bar, tell him to take a nap,
and remind him: you can't out-b**** the original,
and you definitely can't be both a b**** and a dick
without the proper equipment-
that's a vagina, not a p****-toed wannabe!
So the next time Elon Musk claims to be a man,
remind my mom it's not really her in there-
it's just her third eye watching him,
because he couldn't get to her this time.
She's got more eyes on him than a spider in a surveillance van!
And if she could just get back to her brain
and remember she can't actually leave her own butthole,
that would be amazing-because honestly,
I'd like to like her eventually!
Welcome to the White House, where the only thing more divided
than Congress is Monica Lewinsky's thighs-talk about bipartisan separation!
The only thing Monica Lewinsky and a vending machine have
in common? They both say: "Insert Bill here."
Monica started on her knees-and look where that got her.
Guess sometimes you gotta stand up to change the game!
Speaking of Bill Clinton, he was the only president to
get "in the black"-which sounds great, right? Except here's the twist:
the red is the black, the black is the red,
and it all depends if your starting point matches the rest!
So basically, he's the only one who didn't do his job... ironically.
The White House: where politics, scandals, and punchlines come together
like a late-night comedy special that nobody asked for!Everyone says Elon Musk is a genius-rockets, cars, social media-
but when it comes to privacy rights, he thinks he has the right
to everyone's privates. Maybe that's why he bought Twitter-
he thought "X" marked the spot!
He can silence people's right to speak, but when it comes
to getting things to actually work, well-let's just say
his rockets aren't the only things that have trouble launching!
And let's be honest: when your ex-wife's an actress,
has zero social media, and is a complete ghost online,
it's probably because Elon's making sure she can't be heard-
not just seen.
It's ironic Elon Musk and Trump are such buddies-Trump acts
like he's got a little boy crush on Elon just because he plays with rockets.
But the only thing actually benefiting from their friendship
is good TV-two egos, one reality show, and a lot of airtime.
Trump's not Orphan Annie, but with those Daddy Issues,
he's got more in common with Daddy Warbucks than he thinks.
Maybe if Warbucks and Trump stopped stroking their egos,
checked their brain cells, and quit whispering to their billionaire buddies,
they'd finally see the CIA's got their ear-
and maybe, just maybe, get over their crap and check the video feed
before another pie hits their face.
Elon and Trump: proof you can reach for the stars,
miss the point, and still end up on primetime!Wouldn't it be hilarious if every "crazy person"
in the mental hospital was actually right?
They say "the government's in my head"
and doctors nod, writing "paranoid delusions" on charts.
Meanwhile, the microwave auditory effect sits
in declassified documents, scientifically proven.
"They don't have that much control!"
people say, sipping coffee,
while electromagnetic pulses literally make sounds
inside human skulls without speakers.
The real joke? When science confirms
what patients claimed for decades,
we still call them crazy
and the torturers collect paychecks.
Funny how "conspiracy theory"
becomes "classified program" becomes "old news"
faster than you can say "MKUltra."
Leave it to my ex-husband-the one who looks like a
combo of Beavis and Butt-Head turned human-to kick
me out of my kids' lives just because I divorced him.
Now he's married to her, but she's mad at me, not him,
for a divorce he can't stop whining about! Honestly, if
anything, she should be mad at him for holding a grudge
longer than our marriage lasted. At this point, the only
thing they're committed to is blaming me for their own
drama-and with his Beavis-Butt-Head energy, it's no
wonder the plot's stuck on reruns. He's basically living
in Cornholio mode, running around clueless, yelling for
TP for his bunghole, and never making any sense!
Absolutely! Here's your extended roast parody with Jeff Foxworthy's website and contact info attached at the end:
(To the tune of "Circle of Life" with a Jeff Foxworthy twist)
Nants ingonyama bagithi Baba…
(Here comes a government worker, Father…)
From the day you arrive on the planet,
And blinking step into the line,
If you wake up and your government says you're dead,
But you still gotta pay that fine-
You might be a redneck ghost if the IRS still finds you,
Even though your neighbor can't see you at all.
It's the circle of life,
And the rules don't stop,
If your name's on a list,
You're still getting that call!
Chorus:
It's the circle of life,
Where you're stuck in the system,
Invisible citizen,
But you still gotta sign!
If you're following laws that nobody can see,
But the DMV wants your license renewed,
Here's your sign!
Some say eat or be eaten,
Some say live and let live,
But if you're dead on paper and still get jury duty,
You might want to ask who's keeping the books.
If you're waiting four years for help,
While everyone says, "Not my place, not my job,"
Maybe humanity's out to lunch,
And you're just haunting the halls.
Chorus:
It's the circle of life,
And it moves us all,
Through despair and hope,
Through faith and love,
Till we find our place-
On the path unwinding,
In the circle,
The circle of life!
So if you wake up invisible,
But your bills keep coming,
And the government says, "Keep following the rules,"
Just remember-
If nobody's helping,
And you're still on the hook,
Here's your sign:
You're living the bureaucratic afterlife!
For more Jeff Foxworthy laughs and wisdom, check out his official website: jefffoxworthy.com
Or contact him at: [email protected]
Let me know if you want it formatted differently!
Everyone says, "It's not my place, not my job to help."
So whose job is it to be a human being, then?
If someone's asking for help, but you don't want to ruffle feathers,
are you waiting for the "Official Empathy Department" to clock in?
Four years later, still no one's shown up-
maybe humanity's on an extended lunch break!
Hey thugs, you can act all big and bad,
but let's be real-you've been had since day one.
Who's been running your moves? Oh right, the government!
You take the fall, sit in the cell,
while they meditate, play with their third eye,
and maybe even their own set of boobs.
Now you're stuck hugging yourself,
acting like a bunch of boobs,
and yet here you sit, silent as Tape Face-
makes sense, since the only thing getting exercised
is your right to remain awkward.
Meanwhile, you're the Lady in Red-
standing out, thinking you're mysterious,
but really, everyone's just wondering
if you're lost or waiting for a slow dance.
All eyes on you, but the only thing you're stealing
is the spotlight from Tape Face and the thugs
still trying to look tough in the corner.
Next time, just take the sacrificed hug-
it's less embarrassing than pretending to be a badass
while you're stuck in invisible handcuffs!
Hey thugs, before you start your next shady ritual,
can I volunteer as a "sacrificed hug" instead?
I promise, I'm soft, squishy, and way less messy
than whatever you've got planned.
Let's trade the knife for a nice group embrace-
I'll even bring snacks!