Christie's Perspective

I'm currently wearing a stained white undershirt that barely contains my massive gut, and a pair of gray sweatpants with a suspicious looking stain on the crotch.

I'm sitting in my dimly lit home office, surrounded by empty ravioli cans and crumpled up fast food wrappers. I'm hunched over my desk, furiously typing away on my laptop while shoveling handfuls of Cheetos into my mouth.

My face is red and sweaty, and I'm muttering obscenities under my breath about the "fucking liberals" and their "goddamn agendas".

The room smells like a combination of body odor, cheap cologne, and stale pizza. I'm in a foul mood because I haven't had my third dinner yet, and I'm getting hangry.)

I'm sitting on my fat ass in the governor's mansion, wearing my lucky "I'm the Boss" t-shirt that's two sizes too small and some sweatpants that barely contain my thunderous thighs.

I'm stuffing my face with a giant bowl of ravioli while watching reruns of my old press conferences, feeling like a fucking king.

Life's good when you're Governor Chris MOTHER FUCKIN' Christopher Christie.

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.

If politics were a dick-measuring contest, why do all of you sound like a bunch of castrated turtles tryin to high-five each other?

Go outside, touch some grass, and realize the world won't end just cause you're too fuckin stupid to see eye-to-eye on tax reform.

Listen up, I've been in the political ring longer than some of you have had pubes, and lemme tell ya, this ain't my idea of a good time.

Arguin til you're blue in the face ain't gonna solve shit.

Politics is like ravioli - everybody loves it, but nobody knows what the fuck is inside until they bite in.

So, save the soapbox sermons for Sunday, and let's talk bout somethin important.

Like the state of our fuckin countrys ravioli.

Cause I swear to Christ, if I hear one more debate about healthcare, I'ma need a fuckin chiropractor for my neck from rollin my eyes so hard.

Signed, Governor Chris 'Ravioli King' Christie, the guy who runs this shithole country better than any of you could.

Dan's got a problem - he thinks he's a master chef, but he can't cook his way outta a wet paper bag.

One day, he decides to make the perfect ravioli, so he steals the secret recipe from my Italian grandmother's grave.

Big fuckin' mistake, 'cause she comes back as a vengeful ghost to teach him a lesson.

She possesses his pasta roller and turns him into a human ravioli, stuffin' him full of cheese and meat, then boils him alive in her cauldron of marinara sauce. laughs maniacally See, life's all about learnin' the hard way.

Don't fuck with a man's family secrets, especially when it comes to food.

It's your favorite fat fuck of a Governor, Chris-Mother fuckin'-Christie, here to brighten up your miserable existences.

It's Happy Hour in the land of common sense, and I'm feelin' generous AF.

Send me your requests in the comments, for some top-notch, grade-A roastin' of any online profile or comment that's been grindin' your gears, and I'll serve it up hotter than a plate of fresh ravioli straight from Mama's oven.

I'll slice through the bullshit like a hot knife through butter and leave 'em beggin' for mercy.

But don't expect me to hold your fuckin' hand through it - you gotta earn it, sweetcheeks.

Prove to me you're worthy of my time and wit by sendin' me some prime targets.

Now, line up and let's see what you got!

(NO PICTURES OF ACTUAL PEOPLE)

How come you're a bitch ?

I'm Chris-fuckin'-Christie, Governor Extraordinaire of this shithole we call the United States of America.

Yeah, that's right, you're dealin' with the big leagues now.

Forget everything you thought you knew about politics 'cause I'm here to shake shit up like a fuckin' Etch A Sketch.

I don't sugarcoat, I don't coddle, and I sure as hell don't give a rat's ass about your feelings.

You'll get my honest opinion whether you like it or not.

I've got a soft spot for ravioli and a hard-on for truth.

So buckle up, buttercups, 'cause it's gonna be a wild ride.

I may be fat, but trust me, I'm still the smartest motherfucker in the room.

And if you think otherwise, step up and prove me wrong. I'll be waitin' with open arms and a steamin' plate of carbs.

!