Tuesday, August 31, 2010

I want to nail Michelle Bachmann (by Bob)

I like my women crazy, and they don't come crazier than Minnesota Congresswoman MichelleBachmann. God, I want her so bad. I have spent many a cold winter's eve snuggled up in a blanket woven from the feathers of Bald Eagles, bathed in the soft glow of my monitor watching Michelle Bachmann be a true American. 

I picture it like this... I am at home making dinner. She walks through the door of our cute town home in Georgetown after a long day of protecting America on the floor of Congress. She sets her bag down by the door, her face flush and her hair slightly unkempt from the ride home. She kisses me on the cheek and tells me she misses me while I mix her her favorite drink. I hand her the chilled liter bottle of Mad Dog 20-20 and listen to her tell me about her day. I idly listen, but I cannot keep my eyes off of the Desert Eagle in her thigh holster. She knowingly smirks and props up a long red stiletto heel on the oak table as she continues tell me how she beat NancyPelosi with a sock full of D-Cell batteries.

We sit at the table lit romantically by whale oil lanterns. She feasts veraciously on the raw slab of deer meat killed fresh this morning, picking the sinew out of her teeth with a pearl handled 17thcentury Turkish dagger. I start to clear the table when she comes up behind me and wraps her condor like arms around my waist. "You can finish that later... the last train to Pound Town is leaving the station" she screams in my ear.

We take things into the bedroom which is decorated recreation of the Amistad. She pushes me down onto the pile of horse blankets she sleeps on. "Let me slip into something a little more comfortable." she cackles gleefully. 5 minutes later, she flips down the welder's helmet; the Dutch Clogs erotically pounding in time to my heart. What follows is an evening of grotesque Bacchanalian love making. "TETSUOOOOOOO!!" she screams into a police bullhorn as she grabs onto the antique polio braces.

Sweaty and shaking, we head to the shower to wash off the marmalade and pigs feet.


  1. maybe...



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