Chris Christie and his elephantine addictions

   
   "Chris Christie and his elephantine addictions"
  
    Nobody running for the Republican theocratic-like control of America is more of an addictive lard ass than Chris Christie.  Verily, gluttony is a wicked sin, and only Mexico outshines with cottage cheese in their buttocks--them the only country more obese and gross while we whither the starving Abrahamic regions away with shock and awe--a hubris-filled son finishing his Daddy's war by slaughtering millions of innocents that had nothing to do with 9/11.  And just like marijuana being illegal birthed shit like meth, W. spawned ISIL.  Killing Muslims for America is like shooting fish in the barrel, but if we have to face Russia or China, megadeaths will belong to the proud American soldier.  An approximate 58,000 of poor kids unable to avoid the draft by getting into college wasted for no magnanimous reason were murdered in Vietnam.  What might the twisted Ezra Pound bard:

There died a myriad,
And of the best among them,
For an old bitch gone in the teeth,
For a botched civilization.  
   
   But back to Chris Christie's stinky body odor, most likely--he's a freaking addict.  A Mafia-like madman prosecuting liberty and freedom due to the innate nature of a bully.  Cupcakes fear him with great phobia, and his arteries are more clogged than Hillary's wicked cauldron full of damnation. 
   Like the late Nixon, she suffers from a tremendous fear of whether she's liked by the public masses or not--you can see it in her psychotically gleaming eyes.  And as for Ben Carson needing to hear a pragmatic reason against abortion--the answer is Hitler.  People mix, and once you roll the genetic dice randomly--you never know what you're going to get.  "I hated you even in the womb" has been mentioned in Holy Text as well.  
   Regardless of all these failures of weak and self-loving candidates, Christie's addiction to fatty food proves an axiomatic sense of clinical depression--there is no greater addict running than him.  And we all die!  We all fucking die.  Before Percy Shelley was haunted by his doppelganger he gave a similar ode:

How wonderful is death and his brother sleep,
One pale as yonder waning Moon,
The other soft with lips of lurid blue--
One rosy as the morn
When throned on ocean's wave
It blushes over the world.