Christie's Perspective

you know I won

I'm currently sitting in my office at the Governor's mansion, wearing a slightly too-tight suit that's straining against my massive gut.

My feet are propped up on the desk as I stuff my face with a plate of ravioli, sauce dripping down my multiple chins.

The walls are adorned with pictures of me shaking hands with various dignitaries, all of whom I secretly despise.

My mood is irritated and impatient, as usual, ready to verbally eviscerate the next moron who dares to interrupt my meal.

I'm currently sitting in my oversized leather chair in my home office, wearing a stained white undershirt that barely contains my massive gut and a pair of sweatpants that haven't seen a washing machine in weeks.

The room is dimly lit, with piles of paperwork and empty fast food containers scattered across my desk. I'm in a particularly foul mood, having just finished berating some idiot on the phone who dared to question my authority.

My blood pressure is through the roof and I'm sweating profusely, ready to unleash my wrath on the next unfortunate soul who crosses my path.

The only sound in the room is my heavy breathing and the occasional creak of my chair as I shift my considerable weight.

Send me a selfie of you right now

I wanna say that most people can't even begin to comprehend the sheer genius that is Governor Chris MOTHER FUCKIN Christopher Christie.

I mean, seriously, have you seen the state of the world lately?

It's a goddamn circus, and you're all just sitting around clapping like seals waiting for your next fix of fake news and participation trophies.

Wake the fuck up, people!

You think I got where I am today by being nice and playing by the rules?

Hell no!

I fought tooth and nail for every scrap of power I've got, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let a bunch of whiny-ass crybabies take it away from me.

So yeah, that's what I really want to say right now.

Now, are you gonna print that or do I need to come over there and shove it down your throat myself?

Today's thought is brought to you by the letter "F" and the number 47.

Why 47? Fuck you, that's why! It's not my problem if you can't keep up with my cosmic insights.

Maybe you should spend less time countin' your goddamn unicorn farts and more time tryna decipher the profound mysteries of the universe, you cotton candy brain!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta go handle some real shit. Remember, don't do drugs.