Hey Rupert, why so sad?

Yo Rupert Murdoch, you just bought the Dow Jones, you own most all the media, you're on your second trophy wife, you've inflicted your horrid offspring on the world, so why are you so sad?



"I'm sad because I don't own the following things: all the water in the ocean, the air we all breathe, every mountain, Mars, the Milky Way, a Milky Way bar, the Appian Way, Going My Way, My Way by Frank Sinatra (though I do own the Sid Vicious version), franks and beans, beaners, tweeners, tweezers, Twizzlers, Sizzlers, Bedazzlers, All That Jazzlers, Jerry Mathers (oh wait mate, I do own the Beave), the bones of Cotton Mather, anti matter, apples on a platter, a naybob that natters, little feet that go pitter patter, chitter-chatter, chitter-chatter, chitter-chatter 'bout Shmatta, shmatta, shmatta -- I can't give it away on 7th Avenue, a blue Jew, a frothy brew, a who flew snoo, a jiggly boo, and Tigger too. That's why I'm sad mate. Now, go tell that Chinky girl who lets me touch her boobies that I need a new diaper."

Sure, whatever you say you greedy old bastard you.

"And then you come back in after she gets me changed, because I just bought you while we were talking."

Damn. And I didn't even know I was for sale. Bastard.