A Treatise on the Soul of Al Gore

Gore (gore) clotted blood and puss that is shed from a festering wound.

Disgusting untruths emerge from his mouth. He spews forth illogic as if it were pearls of golden wisdom presented to him by the gods themselves. I cannot abide him. He lambastes his friends and foes alike with words tinted with hate and destruction. Flowers wither and die in his sight. Though his countenance is pleasing his heart is foul and rotted. The feted odor of his words lingers long after his passing. Grass does not grow in the places where he has walked. The sun is dimmed and the stars hide their faces from him. How can a just God allow such an evil presence to spend one more minute on His beautiful green earth? Heaven help those who listen to his rantings.

Further from the truth one cannot get unless one communes with the Devil himself. Should we be required to sit among his followers in a darkened hall and soak in the barren waste that he vomits from his mouth? A professor of ignorance, he loves the sound of his own voice above that of all others. He has no desire to hear or even to admit the existence of anyone of a differing mindset than his own. How can one so dense and destructive be allowed to walk among men? Has not the Earth opened up and devoured others of his ilk in times past? What awaits him at the hour of his death? Does he expect to be greeted by his ancestors with their arms open to him? Does he think that God in all His wisdom desires to have near His Holy presence a soul as foul as this? The very saints themselves would draw back and cover their precious eyes in shame at his sight. The glory of the Throne would diminish in his presence.

One with such a black and diseased heart offers no hope to those around him. He offers only despair and destruction. Those who cling to his tattered robe will be carried forever on the rolls of the unwashed. The Book will be closed to them and eternity will be a sad and desolate time for them all.