Pat Robertson, RIP (Roast in Perdition)

I've been waiting a long time to dance on this piece of shit's grave. But finally, finally, finally, Pat Robertson is a dead motherfucker.

I generally try to respect the deceased, but fuck this asshole into the moon. The 700 Club used to be the show that came on right after Wheel of Fortune every weeknight when I lived in Manhattan, and my wife usually had to turn off the TV because I would be yelling at the Robertson opening monologue so much that she couldn't take it. We had an ongoing question if I could ever make it longer than a minute before I was on my feet and pissed off, pointing and shouting, and I don't think I achieved it once. God bless her.

But goddamn old Pat to hell. Remember the time he agreed with that Falwell fuckhead about how the homosexuals and feminists and "abortionists" were why 9/11 happened? Because god works in mysterious (or made up!) ways, I guess. Fuck them both. And you know what killed each of them? Avarice, pride, envy, total fucking incompetence, all things they sanctimoniously accused you of being. Can't say I miss either one, but something about Robertson specifically drove me crazy. I just hated him so much.

He looked like Howdy Doody with jowls. Or if Lumière from Beauty and the Beast got stuck in a microwave for forty seconds. A bloodhound whose face went completely numb. The stained drapes in your room at a Budget Inn. The rotting orange at the bottom of the crate. An erosion canal. A sandblasted sloth. A clothesline catastrophe. Overturned outhouse. Shitheaded shithead.

This motherfucker went to Yale and he was this goddamn stupid. I suppose Brett Kavanaugh and Ted Cruz did too, but let's steer around that rabbit hole for now. Rather than pursuing his life as a lawyer or corporate shill, our young grilled cheese face found god and went into the ministry instead. Wikipedia: "...he underwent a religious conversion and decided against pursuing a career in business." Which is to say he was at least clever enough to recognize there are more rubes in religion than in the corporate world. So I guess I have to give him credit there.

But oh, was he a bastard about it, and frankly, most everything else. Raising money for a nonexistent Rwandan support group. Helping form the Republican-controlled judiciary you see today. Hypocritically supporting gambling on horse racing while claiming otherwise. Asserting a deal with the devil was why Haiti had a devastating earthquake, because Satan something something.

I could go on, but this dead-ass Play-Doh ogre doesn't deserve more of our time. Instead, just listen to him try to explain why the current Ukraine/Russia war was foretold in Ezekiel. If you can follow what he's talking about with regards to how maps work, I either commend or feel very sorry for you:

Egypt is North Sudan. Crimea is a land bridge between Turkey and Greece...sometimes. You know, because god. And TV money. And dumbfucks who manage to believe this shit.

So good riddance to a true asshole. He had the personality of that feeling you get in your cheeks when you eat something too sour. Or like a nagging cavity that never subsides. Impeccable in his idiocy, conniving and corrupt, shamelessly shambolic, stupid as a stone, forever a fucking fucker. Eat shit in your hell, you piece of trash. I am honestly considering trying to turn "Pat Robertson" into some sort of curse word.

And watch out Jim Bakker. You're up next.