Casey Anthony is a fine motherfucker. I said it.
I know I know. All of you women hate her, or most of you women do anyway. Here’s what you don’t understand about her tragic situation:
She’s hot.
It’s not easy being a beautiful girl who forgot her kid was in the trunk (for a month evidently). It’s hard! Poor Casey, she just wanted to drink and grind that booty on some shaft. I can’t survive without a cuticle trimmer. Casey just enjoys that party scene a little more than most. Its not like she was throwing up on the steps each night of the club.
I wouldn’t even care to get her pregnant. One of those problems that takes care of itself. You know…because she will probably kill it. (It’s a joke.)
Casey Anthony sitting in a tree. K I L L I N G. I mean SS! (Wow, that correction was a little Reich-y)
Can we get Casey a baby doll and see what she does with it?
On holidays, I would buy her gag-gifts like a sticker to put on her car windshield that asks “Did I leave any children in my trunk?” And we would laugh about it as I gave her the real gift: a packet of hot dogs. (I was once told that it was the thought that counts. I was thinking a women could use a bunch of lubed up peter-shapes. Of course, they wouldn’t begin to prepare her for mine, which is like a tube sock filled with veiny-cement.)
I know it’s a long shot but if you want to change your name and maybe find Jesus so the nitwits will forgive you, let me know. Let’s Roll (TM).
