I can empathize with President Taft’s situation. Several years ago, I was offered a lucrative “ground floor” offer on some attractively priced, mortgage-backed securities with a guaranteed hedge against both inflation and any deleterious currency shifts during the first six months of the instrument’s terms. The only catch was that I would be obliged to allow a lien on my extensive collection of Wally Cox plaster rectal cavity molds which meticulously document the chronological progression of Albanian dwarf maggots infiltrating his lower intestine and organizing community groups dedicated to revamping all zoning regulations in Nebraska, and requiring anyone who works at the Department of Motor Vehicles to connect large rubber hoses between their mouths and anuses, establishing a perpetual “vomit-ass/shit-mouth” cycle, with alternating Februaries reserved for foraging expeditions in Cosmos Redshift 7. These expeditions proved to be the deal breaker, because I couldn’t get that guy at the gas station to loan me five bucks so I could afford to drive over to Mervyn’s and buy one of those “Everyone Dress Up Like Buddy Ebsen” cardigans, so instead I talked him into letting me read all of the porno mags until he fell asleep and I could get behind the counter and piss-fuck all of his stumps after I amputated everything except his left arm which he could still use to jack off when they showed “Match Game” reruns. So far so good, but when I got home, there was a half-eaten egg salad sandwich in the refrigerator, and Uncle Tom Tom left a note saying he was going to Branson to see Jim Stafford and could he use the Plymouth.
Naturally, when considering tick-borne pathogens of the dick and neck stump, members of Congress and the House of Representatives must allow themselves the opportunity to assess the risks of bacterial types versus the ones caused by extra-terrestrial mutant protozoan dick slit screw worms. During the regular Thursday afternoon Congressional gastropod mollusk orgies, the two members from Wyoming and Nebraska who traditionally sit out the self-castration portion of the ceremony can often be seen making out behind the podium while a retarded page smears Grey Poupon mustard on the men’s rectal cavities while masturbating to an eight-year-old issue of ‘Better Homes and Anally-Inserted Rhino Cocks’ … especially the issue wherein Phyllis Schlafly explains briefly the benefits of stuffing her floor length labia into an imperfectly sewn sphincterotomy belonging to one or the other member of the aforementioned states. The Sunday school lessons that can be thus derived from these traumatic endoscopic procedures can, however, allow the participants to use soda straws when sucking the more virulent form of echinococcosis from each other’s scab-begrimed external urethras. Of course Uncle Tom Tom can use the Plymouth. Please ask him to add a quart of oil to the engine and to give the Southern Baptist deacon locked in the trunk another White Castle enema.
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