(Thanks Jacki for pointing this my way)
“This ain’t a fuckin’ game, Gwen. It ain’t a fuckin’ beauty pageant where you can give a cross-eyed hummer to a flute and charm your way to second place. We already played let’s-put-the-idiot-in-charge. How’d that work out, huh? So it ain’t funny that we are actually having a serious discussion about someone who is caught off guard when asked for a newspaper she reads. It’s not funny. Not when the top of her ticket is Old Geezer Grumpy McStrokeEye. So, no, Gwen, even if the economy was so good that everyone was knee deep in cash and pussy or cock, even if Osama bin Laden told all his people to go back to goat fucking and then killed himself, even if all of a sudden we discovered we could all power our cars cleanly with pig shit, even if the streets were paved with gold, Gwen, this fuckin’ idiot, who couldn’t discuss a foreign policy even though her soldier son’s life depends on it and who couldn’t even name the Exxon Valdez case, fer chrissake, oughta be arrested if she sets foot in Washington, DC,”