Bitch McConnell. True colors come bleeding through.
You can’t teach an old bitch new tricks.
Every time, Bitch McConnell, that you seem to be reclaiming a modicum of decency, your true colors suddenly come through AGAIN—like bleeding madras in a rinse cycle.
You will never change. You’re the soulless Russian asset you’ve always been. Fully MAGAt compliant.
Bitch, years ago, both you and I were attending Crescent Hill Baptist Church in Louisville at the same time. I was a young preaching professor at Southern Seminary, and according to gossip in the young couples’s Sunday School class you were hitting on Eleanor Nutt before her husband’s, Grady‘s, body was even cold in the burial ground. She was so far out of your league. It’s unimaginable that you even pondered the possibility she would give you the time of day, even after an appropriate amount of grief time had passed.
Though we never had a conversation, you and I, it was clear we were in agreement in our shared admiration of our pastor, Dr. Steve Shoemaker. Terrific preacher. Terrific person. Steve thought highly of you also and continued to.
In a 40 year friendship with Steve, whom I believe performed your wedding to Immigrant Chao, the only time I ever thought he was full of Kentucky Derby horse shit was when he continued to believe the best in you.
He was wrong. There was no best in you. Ever.
I hope he’ll refuse to perform your funeral.
Rev Professor David Albert Farmer, PhD
