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US US Politics General - Discussion of President Biden and other politicians
- Thread starter SeniorFuckFace
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- Oct 27, 2017
Many people before you have made that same joke(?) for a while now, including myself...
But come to think of it...
I don't think I've ever seen Brett Cooper and Ben Shapiro at the same place at the same time before... And they do look remarkably similar...
If you show me a clip or a pick of them together then its a DEEPFAKE. lol.
Politics these days is all jokes.
Ibanez RG 350EX
kiwifarms.net
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Jesus, I didn't even realize it went back THAT far. Imagine how shitty it must be being a normal person who gets born into these intertwined lineages of pathologically ambitious sociopaths.
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- May 28, 2024
BUck(ley) broken
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- Jun 14, 2024
You know now that I think of it, the Dems probably would have been better off running a RINO like a Bush instead of Kamala.
They managed to gaslight their own voters into thinking a Cheney endorsement is good, so it’s not like they couldn’t win their base with a Bush. And you could actually probably win moderate republicans and some right leaning independents with them too.
Democrats, I’m giving you this advice for free: if in 2028 you want to beat JD, ¡Yeb! your candidate must be.
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- Mar 7, 2023
i was going to say that at least they provide insurance for shooting ranges, but i double checked and from what i can tell they only provide the insurance if 100% of the shooting club members are NRA members. and i’ve never needed to show any proof to any of the shooting ranges i’ve been to
dumb fudd cucks
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- Jul 3, 2021
What’s the reference behind this schizomap?
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- Apr 7, 2019
Are you trying to make half the thread vomit?
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- May 18, 2024
The day new england goes majority red is the day hell freezes over.
ironically about the only people who take the NRA seriously are leftists and the most diehard neocons.
I just think its really funny to see them make such a big deal about this.
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- Jul 30, 2016
The same facial blind people who call Brett Cooper a trooned out Ben are the same ones who spend all day posting on 4chan about Abby Shapiro's khazar milkers and gooning to her WikiFeet page and don't see a hint of irony in it.
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- Jun 17, 2018
Brett Cooper looks more like Ben Shapiro’s sister than his actual sister.
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- Jul 30, 2016
I guess I'm the facial blind retard then because I just don't see it.
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Face blind? Bro, they objectively look eerily similar and everyone everywhere comments on it.
Sekirodiealot
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I wish that was real.
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- May 6, 2019
Ignoring your fed nature, I increasingly want to beat people here with a stick labeled "Margin of Error".
Something I need everyone here to internalize, polls even done well have a Margin of Error, think the amount it could be off given the nature of random sampling. It is, if done well, ~2 in either direction. So it could be as much as 2% more than what is said or as much as 2% less than what is said.
That Jill Stein poll has the difference firmly within a point meaning it is within the margin of error. The only conclusion possible to draw from that as a definitive is that the amount she is taking is approximately equal to both candidates.
This concept also goes to national polling. Any poll showing Trump or Kamala up by anything less than 3 points is within the margin of error. Consider those a 50/50 prospect.
I love how they had to absolutely bleach the Trump picture to make him look bad. Such fantastically obvious propaganda usually has the opposite effect on the viewer that the creator intended.
Also, that is not a good number for Harris. That is a -lot- of undecided voters who were watching. Hell, it likely was the majority of who was watching since Republicans wouldn't actually care and Democrats largely wouldn't either.
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- Aug 7, 2021
The air in the Oval Office was thick with tension, a heavy silence that embodied the tumultuous emotions brewing within its walls. The nation was on edge, and so were its two most formidable figures . .. Donald Trump, the man who had once held the office, and Kamala Harris, the sitting Vice President who had risen to power after Biden's sudden withdrawal from the race; now they were the only two people standing between America and its future. Neither was willing to back down.
Trump, his once-golden hair slowly tinging with silver, stood by the Resolute Desk, his eyes fixed on the woman before him — Kamala Harris, her dark eyes gleaming, met his gaze unflinchingly. There was a challenge there, one that spoke of the countless battles she had fought and won, both in the courtroom and in the political arena.
The tension between them crackled like electricity, an understanding passing between them, an understanding that this was not metely a political contest; it was something far more primal. The stakes were high and the lines between power and desire had begun to blur.
Trump took a step forward, his presence commanding the room as it always had. He was a man who thrived on dominance, on bending others to his will, and had no intention of losing to anyone, especially not Harris. His eyes traveled over her as he took in the her posture, her expression. She was formidable, she had never been afraid to fight dirty, and he found himself infuriated and intrigued .
For her part, Harris was hardly intimidated. She had faced down the worst and Trump was just another challenge to be conquered. Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile, one that dared him to make a move. She was ready, more than ready to take him on in this game they were about to play.
Their bodies moved of their own accord, drawn together by a force neither could explain, nor resist. Trump's hands, large and calloused, found their way to her waist, pulling her roughly against him. Harris didn't flinch. She leaned into him, her breath hot against his neck as she whispered for him.
"You think you can beat me, Donald? Think again."
A taunt, a challenge that ignited something deep within him. His grip tightened as he pressed her back against the desk, his body pinning hers. The heat between them was a fiery blend of hatred and desire that threatened to consume them.
Their lips collided in a brutal kiss, a clash that was just as much battle as it was passion. Trump's hands were rough as they gripped her waist and pulled her against him with a force that made her gasp. But Harris was no passive — her hands fisted in his hair as she pulled him closer, biting his lower lip hard enough to nearly draw blood.
Soon their hands were everywhere, grasping, pulling, tearing at the barriers of clothing between them. Trump's fingers fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, tearing the fabric in haste to expose her skin beneath. Harris shoved him back and yanked his tie loose before slipping it over his head and tossing it aside.
Once free of their clothes, they didn't waste any time. Trump's hands moved to her breasts, his fingers squeezing and teasing her nipples until they were hard peaks, eliciting a low moan from her lips. Harris responded by dragging her nails down his chest, leaving angry red marks in their wake as she made her way down to his belt.
She undid the buckle and pulled the leather free with ease, tossing it aside to work on his pants. She was relentless, her hands slipping inside his boxers to wrap around his hard length, stroking him slowly, teasingly. Trump's breath hitched, his eyes darkening with lust as he watched her work.
Harris dropped to her knees before him with her eyes never leaving his as she yanked his boxers down, freeing his hard cock onto her. She leaned forward, her breath hot against the tip of it and she teased him with her tongue, flicking it over the sensitive head before finally taking him fully into her mouth, her lips wrapping around him.
She worked him over with an expert's touch, her head bobbing as she took him deeper and deeper, her tongue swirling around the shaft as she hollowed her cheeks. Trump's hands found their tangling in the dark strands of her hair as he guided her movements with his control slipping away every passing second.
Harris knew what she was doing and she relished in the power she held over him at this moment. She varied her speed, slowing down just as he was about to reach the edge, only to pick up the pace again. And when she finally brought him to the brink, she pulled away, leaving him throbbing and desperate.
With a growl, Trump pulled her to her feet and spun her around, bending her over the Resolute Desk. He was on her in an instant, his hands gripping her hips as he buried himself inside her in one swift thrust.
The sensation was overwhelming, the stretch and burn as he filled her completely, and Harris couldn't hold back the moan that escaped her. Trump didn't give her a moment to adjust; he set his brutal pace as his hips slammed against hers.
Harris met him thrust for thrust, her body arching back to take him deeper and the desk creaking beneath the force of them. Every movement, every thrust, was a fight for control that neither was willing to lose as the sounds of their flesh slapping together filled the room, mingling with their grunts and moans.
But it wasn't enough. Harris wanted more, needed more. With a deft twist of her body, she managed to flip them over, pushing Trump onto his back on the desk as she swiftly straddled him and took control. She was already riding him directly, making him groan as his hands gripped her thighs as she moved.
She set a punishing pace, her hips grinding against his with every thrust, the angle perfect to hit that sweet spot inside her that made her see stars. Trump's eyes locked on hers, his expression a mix of lust and admiration as he watched her take what she wanted.
And she wanted everything. Harris leaned down, her lips finding his as she kissed him fiercely, their tongues tangling. Her hands slid up his chest as she pushed him closer and closer to the edge; she could feel herself nearing the brink, her body tightening and coiling like a spring ready to snap.
With a final, desperate thrust, they both tumbled over the edge together as they reached their climax. Their worlds exploded into hot pleasure, the intensity of it leaving them both breathless and their bodies trembling.
They simply lay there, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The room was filled with the scent of sweat, a reminder of the raw, primal connection they had just shared.
But as the afterglow faded, the reality of their situation settled in. They were rivals, competitors in a game where only one could emerge victorious. And while this moment had been a surrender to their basest instincts, it didn't change the fact that the war was far from over.
Harris pushed herself up, sliding Trump out of her. She smoothed her hair and straightening her clothes, and Trump did the same, his eyes still dark as he watched her.
Neither spoke as they finished dressing. And when they finally parted ways, there was no need for goodbyes. They both knew what came next.
The battle for the presidency would continue, and this moment — that twisted, intimate connection — would be just another weapon in their arsenals. The war was far from over, and in the end, there could only be one winner.
Trump, his once-golden hair slowly tinging with silver, stood by the Resolute Desk, his eyes fixed on the woman before him — Kamala Harris, her dark eyes gleaming, met his gaze unflinchingly. There was a challenge there, one that spoke of the countless battles she had fought and won, both in the courtroom and in the political arena.
The tension between them crackled like electricity, an understanding passing between them, an understanding that this was not metely a political contest; it was something far more primal. The stakes were high and the lines between power and desire had begun to blur.
Trump took a step forward, his presence commanding the room as it always had. He was a man who thrived on dominance, on bending others to his will, and had no intention of losing to anyone, especially not Harris. His eyes traveled over her as he took in the her posture, her expression. She was formidable, she had never been afraid to fight dirty, and he found himself infuriated and intrigued .
For her part, Harris was hardly intimidated. She had faced down the worst and Trump was just another challenge to be conquered. Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile, one that dared him to make a move. She was ready, more than ready to take him on in this game they were about to play.
Their bodies moved of their own accord, drawn together by a force neither could explain, nor resist. Trump's hands, large and calloused, found their way to her waist, pulling her roughly against him. Harris didn't flinch. She leaned into him, her breath hot against his neck as she whispered for him.
"You think you can beat me, Donald? Think again."
A taunt, a challenge that ignited something deep within him. His grip tightened as he pressed her back against the desk, his body pinning hers. The heat between them was a fiery blend of hatred and desire that threatened to consume them.
Their lips collided in a brutal kiss, a clash that was just as much battle as it was passion. Trump's hands were rough as they gripped her waist and pulled her against him with a force that made her gasp. But Harris was no passive — her hands fisted in his hair as she pulled him closer, biting his lower lip hard enough to nearly draw blood.
Soon their hands were everywhere, grasping, pulling, tearing at the barriers of clothing between them. Trump's fingers fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, tearing the fabric in haste to expose her skin beneath. Harris shoved him back and yanked his tie loose before slipping it over his head and tossing it aside.
Once free of their clothes, they didn't waste any time. Trump's hands moved to her breasts, his fingers squeezing and teasing her nipples until they were hard peaks, eliciting a low moan from her lips. Harris responded by dragging her nails down his chest, leaving angry red marks in their wake as she made her way down to his belt.
She undid the buckle and pulled the leather free with ease, tossing it aside to work on his pants. She was relentless, her hands slipping inside his boxers to wrap around his hard length, stroking him slowly, teasingly. Trump's breath hitched, his eyes darkening with lust as he watched her work.
Harris dropped to her knees before him with her eyes never leaving his as she yanked his boxers down, freeing his hard cock onto her. She leaned forward, her breath hot against the tip of it and she teased him with her tongue, flicking it over the sensitive head before finally taking him fully into her mouth, her lips wrapping around him.
She worked him over with an expert's touch, her head bobbing as she took him deeper and deeper, her tongue swirling around the shaft as she hollowed her cheeks. Trump's hands found their tangling in the dark strands of her hair as he guided her movements with his control slipping away every passing second.
Harris knew what she was doing and she relished in the power she held over him at this moment. She varied her speed, slowing down just as he was about to reach the edge, only to pick up the pace again. And when she finally brought him to the brink, she pulled away, leaving him throbbing and desperate.
With a growl, Trump pulled her to her feet and spun her around, bending her over the Resolute Desk. He was on her in an instant, his hands gripping her hips as he buried himself inside her in one swift thrust.
The sensation was overwhelming, the stretch and burn as he filled her completely, and Harris couldn't hold back the moan that escaped her. Trump didn't give her a moment to adjust; he set his brutal pace as his hips slammed against hers.
Harris met him thrust for thrust, her body arching back to take him deeper and the desk creaking beneath the force of them. Every movement, every thrust, was a fight for control that neither was willing to lose as the sounds of their flesh slapping together filled the room, mingling with their grunts and moans.
But it wasn't enough. Harris wanted more, needed more. With a deft twist of her body, she managed to flip them over, pushing Trump onto his back on the desk as she swiftly straddled him and took control. She was already riding him directly, making him groan as his hands gripped her thighs as she moved.
She set a punishing pace, her hips grinding against his with every thrust, the angle perfect to hit that sweet spot inside her that made her see stars. Trump's eyes locked on hers, his expression a mix of lust and admiration as he watched her take what she wanted.
And she wanted everything. Harris leaned down, her lips finding his as she kissed him fiercely, their tongues tangling. Her hands slid up his chest as she pushed him closer and closer to the edge; she could feel herself nearing the brink, her body tightening and coiling like a spring ready to snap.
With a final, desperate thrust, they both tumbled over the edge together as they reached their climax. Their worlds exploded into hot pleasure, the intensity of it leaving them both breathless and their bodies trembling.
They simply lay there, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The room was filled with the scent of sweat, a reminder of the raw, primal connection they had just shared.
But as the afterglow faded, the reality of their situation settled in. They were rivals, competitors in a game where only one could emerge victorious. And while this moment had been a surrender to their basest instincts, it didn't change the fact that the war was far from over.
Harris pushed herself up, sliding Trump out of her. She smoothed her hair and straightening her clothes, and Trump did the same, his eyes still dark as he watched her.
Neither spoke as they finished dressing. And when they finally parted ways, there was no need for goodbyes. They both knew what came next.
The battle for the presidency would continue, and this moment — that twisted, intimate connection — would be just another weapon in their arsenals. The war was far from over, and in the end, there could only be one winner.
Seething Troon Collector
Real friends are the bigots we made along the way
True & Honest Fan
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That's right. Bossman has the power of Crack-O-Vision. He can see the mines before they even appear on screen while he's hitting a blunt and fucking your mom every night.
Is he out of rehab yet? I'm seriously missing some good wholesome big chungus bossmanjack content.
Sekirodiealot
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- Mar 11, 2024
i hope when the sad lonely chuds who masterbate to her in their nightly goon sesh just before they coom their brain tricks them into seeing Shapiro's face and they feel an overwhelming sense of shame.
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- Oct 27, 2017
I know multiple other people who have said that Ben Shapiro and Brett Cooper look quite similar.
I don't even think it's a case of facial blindless. It's just that they both have a suspiciously similar phenotype. I can only speculate why.
I don't even think it's a case of facial blindless. It's just that they both have a suspiciously similar phenotype. I can only speculate why.
Crooked 16th
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Bro is streaming right now, TBH i need Bossman to endorse a candite so i know who is going to lose it all
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