Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Why Fags Should Love Me

Fags hate me. I don’t know why. I pray for them every night, pleading with Jesus to help them by putting them out of their misery with agonizing deaths. “Make them die slowly!” I plead, eyes gleaming red with ecstacy as I envision their agonized shrieks and blood pouring out of their slashed veins. What could possibly be more Christian?

Plus, my husband Mark has dedicated his life to curing fags of their fagginess, stopping at nothing, literally nothing, to achieve his ends. To try to better understand their filthy, twisted Pagan lifestyle, he has lived as a fag for over 60 years, getting ass raped nightly and returning home dripping with semen spewed from men of all races and species. I’m not kidding, this spunk reeks out of every orifice, and he does it all to cure fags! How Christly is that?

Last Halloween, he even went out into the gay ghetto of Davenport, costumed as a urinal so that all those godless fags could empty their bladders into him, treating him like the human piss receptacle that he so closely resembled. The year before that, he went out dressed as a fully functioning toilet – let’s just say it took him weeks to recover from the hepatitis that followed. Suffering for their sins –how Christly is that?

And Mark doesn’t just try to empathize with the “normal” artsy/upscale fags. No, he has wandered down the darkest alleys of extreme fetish. Without going into too much gory detail, suffice it to say that an extended family of gerbils is living (quite contentedly, I might add) in his anus today. How Christly is that?

So you fucking fruitcake hypocrites, think twice before you criticize me. The Darkie-in-Chief hasn’t even given you gay marriage, but my husband has delivered hard core, nasty-pig orgasms to thousands of you – and that’s just in the last week!

I’m just sayin…

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