Sex and Dancing Lesbos

And those dykes. They hate men, just hate men. Probably because they were raped or so ugly they can't get a man. I mean most of them look like men anyway and want to be men, of course, and they have all sorts of strap-on sex, and one of them always pretends to be the man. Those porno lesbians are hot, though. They look like sorority girls. Now that's okay. They're not straight girls on cocaine, no way. Those are real girls having lesbian sex. Now that's hot! Then a guy jumps in. That's what they need anyway. So hot. Not like those faggots who can just do hair and decorate and that's about it besides taking it up the ass and sucking wad. Which they do all the time. They're crazy—no morals, no faith, no love. Just sex and dancing. Fags! Dykes! And the more people they try to recruit to their lifestyle, the more they're eroding what this country stands for: good, decent family.

* * *

I am a girl. I woke up at 7 a.m. today. I did not want to get up. The sun poked through my blinds and lit the room. I rolled over to my fiancĂ©e, Angela, and spooned her. She was warm. My feet were cold. She jumped. I giggled. She rolled over and snuggled into me. "Good morning," I said to her and kissed the top of her head. She pressed her body into mine one last time before getting up to wake her 6- and 13-year-old boys. I heard her sweetly tell them good morning. She went into the kitchen to make their lunches. I brushed my teeth, let the poodle out to potty, uncovered the bird, and turned on the radio to classic rock to get the morning moving. I put a load of laundry in, realizing the 13-year-old was out of clean jeans. Angela poured the youngest—who refuses to eat—Rice Krispies and made the older boy eggs and toast. I had grapefruit juice, and she had nothing as she ran to shower and get dressed. I made her a fried-egg sandwich, wrapped it in tin foil and laid it by her purse. I went outside and squeegeed her car windows, removing the vision-impairing dew and started her engine to warm her car. I came back in and sat with the youngest boy at the table and encouraged him to keep eating. We talked about the toy rooster he took to kindergarten for "share day" yesterday. He said he gave hints to the kids before revealing it. He had said it laid eggs. "But roosters don't lay eggs," Angela said, entering the room. "Hens do." He reminded her that she said women could do anything men could do and vice versa. She smiled and said they'd talk about it later. The older boy came in, and we talked about Bush's State of the Union address and about how insane he is, about the problems with Israel and Palestine and whatever happened to Osama bin Laden? He said he had stood up in history class yesterday and repeated the information I had told him the night before about this sham of a war, and it created a hot debate that he thoroughly enjoyed. He then ironed his own pants, and I threw on a jacket and slippers and warmed up the car to drop him off at school. When we reached the middle school, I gave him $5 for lunch, and we told each other to have a nice day. Angela walked her youngest son to kindergarten and kissed him goodbye. She and I met back at the house afterward. She put the finishing touches on her makeup. I took a shower and styled my hair. We talked about whether we liked the new carpeting in the garage. (We had a contractor convert it into an office last week.) We decided we did not like it. I agreed to call the carpet people. She agreed to call the electrician for the phone line. We kissed each other goodbye at the front door and said, "I love you. Have a nice day; be careful." I will make dinner tonight. She made it last night. After last night's dinner, we all had ice cream. Tonight, I will bake cookies.

* * * Homosexuals are different than regular folk. They have some kind of damaged gene or psychological problem, or they were molested, and that makes them really flighty, really into sex with anyone at any time and really into showing off their weird lifestyle. They take drugs all the time, and they're very unhappy and usually alcoholic, mostly because, well, duh, they're gay. God said so. I mean, does a rabbit have sex with a horse? Of course not!
 
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