You know what really pisses me off? The pedophile bullshit.
I mean come on people. These boys were 16 and 17 years old. High school students! Are you all trying to tell me that most American men over the age of 40 weren’t salivating over the Olsen twins when they were 16? Or hot for Britney Spears before she turned 18? Don’t even try to convince me otherwise… because I do have heterosexual pals and they’ve clued me in.
How about all those teen slasher flicks with the chicks running around topless before getting their heads cut off? Are all the fans of those movies pedophiles? I mean come on! Guys of all ages like hot high school chicks and there’s nothing wrong with it. There’s an entire porn industry dedicated to cheerleaders and broads wearing Catholic school girl outfits.
Okay, okay, I’ll give you all the legal mumbo jumbo about them being under the age of consent blah, blah, blah… But that’s just a technicality.
Pedophiles are those ugly, old guys in bad shoes feeling up babies and shit. Or those whack-job gym teachers who like to shower with four and five year olds. Now that’s some sick shit. We need to put those people away.
Why do you think I was chairman of the House Caucus on Missing and Exploited Children? I’m all for protecting children from sexual predators, but I didn’t mean high school kids (especially juniors and seniors!). I meant babies, toddlers – you know the really young ones. I would have taken a baseball bat a la De Niro in “The Untouchables” to anyone who messed with my nephews. Bang! Take that pervert!
But I didn’t mean high school students. Damn! Back in the day, most people got married right out of high school. Hell, way back in colonial times 16 was practically middle aged.
So back off on the pedophilia crap. ‘Cause I’ll go all “Fight Club” on your ass if you keep it up. I’m no pedophile.
Here’s another fact for you vipers. I didn’t touch the kid. I sent him flirty instant messages – just like you’ve done with the cute administrative assistant with the mammary glands the size of coconuts or the college girl intern who wears Mahanuala Spaghetti Tops that leaves nothing to the imagination.
Everyone flirts – its human nature – hell, its animal nature. It’s why dogs sniff each other’s asses. Why pigs dry hump each other and why people send naughty emails to each other. It doesn’t mean shit! It’s not like I dragged the kid into the bushes and popped his cherry. All I did was ask the kid for a photograph, talk about going to the gym to work-out, and wonder out loud if I made the little freak horny. Okay, okay, so we engaged in some cyber sex. I had urges! Human urges! Like you never did it!
So now you pack of cannibals want to eat me alive.
I wish I could blame it all on the Democrats – but it’s the goddamn Republicans who really want my head on a plate. Talk about ungrateful. I suppressed my homosexuality for decades to appease the base and I have one teeny-weeny lapse and now I’m a pariah, the depraved uncle in the attic.
I’d like to stuff a banana in the maw of that bloated marshmallow Dennis Hastert (Things that make you go hmmmm – Hastert was a boys wrestling coach. I’m not saying, but come on!). I supported that two-ton bag of jowls and this is the thanks that I get? When the going gets tough, I get thrown out of the boat and left to the sharks?
Maybe I should have followed my instincts and moved to Provincetown, Massachusetts, to open a boutique for leather accessories – wallets, key chains, muzzles, and dog leashes. I could have made a name for myself by running for the Board of Selectmen or something…
Let me get one more thing off my chest. This whole alcoholic and priest molesting bit? It’s not bad if I do say so myself. I mean I was being hung out to dry – I had to say something, right? So now I’ve got a whole second career lined up – Oprah (you watch, I’m gonna ball like a baby when I get on that couch), Dr. Phil, Larry King… You know the drill.