Alexander the Great
A thieving, fanatical Albanian dwarf. Wait. That’s what I said about Mother Theresa. My usually encyclopedic memory has perhaps been muddied a bit by that third bottle of Black Label. A buggering, megalomaniacal Macedonian midget. There, that’s much better. Though one must concede that Alexander could famously imbibe gallons of the wine-skinned swill of his age and still remain standing—nay, defiant—a trait I wholeheartedly admire and endorse.
Raping and pillaging ones way across half the globe hardly qualifies one for greatness per se, though one could say that at least Alexander did something proactive, unlike the cringing, odious cowards of the Left. They seem content to acquiesce and appease, like fucking Chamberlain kowtowing to das Fuhrer, while real men of courage like George W. Bush and Dick Cheney stand and fight—nay, volunteer—for service in … er … well, regardless, I’m still right about Iraq. Fuck off.
The Great Wall of China
This supposedly impenetrable structure hardly kept those fucking unwashed Mongols from invading and subjugating their supposedly “divine” middle kingdom. Speaking of divinity, the Chinese insistence that their emperor was the “son of heaven” smacks of that most corrupt and pernicious of all evils, religion.
One could say the Chinese almost deserved to have the Mongols overwhelm them. But saying so would infer the existence of the aforementioned divinity, in its infamous guise of “retribution.” This quaint notion is of course paradoxically disproved by the success of immoral abominations as Henry Kissinger, Jerry Falwell, and that true pillar of fraud and malfeasance, Mother Theresa.
Alas, the impractical battlement is utterly porous when compared to the stalwart adamantine barriers against Islamofascism erected by the intrepid and prescient Mr. Bush, much to the chagrin of my spineless antagonists on the Left, especially the intellectually stunted sycophants at The Nation.
They’d like nothing more than to verily throw open the gates of western civilization to terrorists and jihadists—nay, invite—them in for fucking lemonade. Virgin of course, lest they offend their guests fragile religious sensibilities. As the great W.C. Fields once remarked, “Never trust a man who doesn’t drink”; the obvious corollary to this is always trust one who does, especially one who can drink enough for three stout men, yet still remain lucid—nay, triumphant—scattering his bleating rivals before him.
A simpering Bambi narcissist. Wait. Damn, that’s what I called Princess Diana. Seriously, can one be considered “great” based on one’s excellence in a gross physical activity? Or in anything regarded by the unwashed masses as “sport”? True fucking sport involves the verbal evisceration and humiliation of one’s sputtering and overmatched foes, preferably in a charged public forum, before a gasping throng of cowed but fawning spectators.
Also he never had to contend with the vicious cross-checking and man-marking that Mario Lemieaux suffered through on a nightly basis. One is reminded of the constant barrage from the caterwauling liberal press on the indefatigable Mr. Bush.
Alas, the peace-mongering Canadians’ insistence on deifying “the Great One” is simply replacing one false god with another, though at least Gretsky has video evidence of his “greatness”, unlike Jesus or Mohammed, or that thieving bitch Mother Theresa.
The rabid frothing of their pathetic anthropomorphic tiger mascot notwithstanding, these “flakes” decompose in seconds into an insipid, over-sweet slurry, not unlike the sugarcoated pap generated by the insipid dolts infesting the cubicles at The Nation.
Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get something solid to eat to help forestall an imminent buggering hangover. Sod off.