the donkey punch

Dear Larry Craig,

First off, let me say that you and I have a lot in common. First of all, I, as you so eloquently put it, am not gay and have never been gay. I admit that once I was accused of giving myself a handjob, but those charges have never been substantiated.

Secondly, we both live in Washington DC, and we know that the place is overflowing with corruption. It’s enough to make us miss the fruits of our home states (Idaho Potatos for you, Kentucky Bourbon for me–by the way, I win). I admit that one night I found myself in the bathroom of Union Station, which I have since learned is a hot-spot for anonymous gay sex. I went there, not looking for anal love, but because I was going out to a bar in Union Station and when I got off the metro, I had to pee very badly. I rushed into the bathroom and quickly saw what was happening there. There were two voices coming from every bathroom stall, and the walls smelled as though they had been painted with a light coat of semen. When I used the bathroom, a preppy looking gentleman in a Georgetown University sweatshirt sidled up to the urinal next to me, dropped his pants to his ankles
and belted out the chorus of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” by the Rolling Stones, all the while shaking his ass in my general direction. From that encounter, and several corroborating stories, I have discerned that the bathrooms in Union Station are meant primarily for anonymous gay sex and secondarily for urinating.

You’ve been accused of having gay sex in these same Union Station bathrooms where I once peed. You say it’s not true, and I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You’ve also been accused of soliciting sex from a police officer in a Minnesota restroom. You say it’s not true, and who am I to say you’re lying? I mean, after all, we have a justice system, and if you were guilty, you probably would have plead guilty. I’m sure you, like me, were in these
notorious gay sex bathrooms because you had an innocent reason to be in these gay sex bathrooms.

Here’s where maybe we part ways. Say, for argument’s sake, you were in those bathrooms for PG-13 reasons. Maybe you heard somebody sing “You can’t always get what you want,” and you thought, “But if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need.” It would be monstrously hypocritical of you to say that the bathroom cruisers, whose secret signals you coincidentally knew, shouldn’t have the same rights as you, a more distinguished bathroom cruiser, who probably preferred Idaho’s own music to the Rolling Stones.

But even if you are just being framed, then we have to work together to ensure that this bathroom-banging stops. Maybe if there were a socially acceptable way for gays to live as committed couples, sort of the way that you and your wife do. Short of that, I propose that you and me join forces and keep a 24 hour watch on the Union Station bathrooms with a video camera just to ensure no funny stuff happens.

The Keith to your Mick,
Gov’t M

As sometimes occurs, I am spending this day in airports across our fruity plains and I can’t help but ruminate on these times in which we live, where liberals parade as conservatives, gays appear as straights. It is fantasgomorraic.

During the critical discussion of Mr. Larry Craig, Idaho’s openly gay Senator, last night on Larry King Lies, King zinged faggot sexpert Dr. Drew with one of Chris Matthews’ patented “hardball” questions (and in a sign of the times, doesn’t that sound a little gay itself? Where’s that Islamofascist from Nightline when you need him?). The exchange follows, direct from the transcript:

KING: Dr. Pinsky, why men’s rooms?

PINSKY: (laughs) Why men’s rooms?

KING: Is that because it’s a safe kind of cover?

PINSKY: Yes, it’s an anonymous behavior. There’s a ritual element to it. I mean they tend to be public spaces where people can sort of hide away and sometimes can be quiet. I mean parks are sort of the characteristic place for it. I don’t know about airports. I wasn’t aware that airports were a very commonplace (INAUDIBLE) because there’s plenty of traffic.

So, yes, now not even the bathroom is safe. No longer is my shitastic throne a fortress of solitude.

No, now these faggots have infiltrated even this bastion of pussyfucking and I can no longer poop in peace, let alone hold my penis in my right hand and stare at boogers on the wall above the urinal without thinking, “What’s that queer to my left looking at? Why does he keep tapping his fairy feet like that?”

What is the world cumming to? When will these liberals stop? They disgust me with their semen swapping and their “I don’t care if I burn in hell attitude.”

Butt here’s The Donkey Punch:

Liberals can rejoice in this debacle of hypocrisy all they like but they’ll just cum out as cruel and unusual.

Treat this like it is: a known fact. Republicans make good faggots, too. Given the way they insist on dressing, obviously a good percentage of them must be a little light in the loafers. You can’t put that many douchebags in dock shoes and not expect any number of them to occassion the airport glory hole.

And if it’s a known fact then it’s like, oh, gravity. We don’t sit around marveling at gravity, do we?

We don’t waste precious time discussing gravity instead of subject of more gravitas, like Owen Wilson’s suicide attempt or, hmm, that insane war in Iraq.

So please, Liberals, get off your sloganeering ass and say something that means… something.

And let the queers of all parties party like queers who fear no evil. Otherwise, you liberals will burn in hell right fucking next to them.

If you’re not doomed to it already. You shitheads. (I mean you, Carville.)