Ha, not really. No nudity. That would be fun, though.
1. Kleinheider tries to tell me that there are Jewish White Nationalists. I remain unconvinced.
2. Exador is feeling the effects of his hard partying ways. I refrain from saying anything naughty as I’m trying to save all that stuff for my paying customers now.
3. It’s only after I encourage Bobster to let his girl stick her finger in his bum that I remember Sarcastro’s mom reads his blog. Oops.
Is dominatrixing technically considered sex work? Wouldn’t that be ironic, if I went into a line of work that required me to have to advertise in the Scene? Shoot, I might have to send Tracy Moore some McDonald’s coupons as a make-up gift.
Anyway, I was thinking that being a dominatrix that catered specifically to conservatives might actually be a hoot. "Ned Williams" could call me up and be all "Oh, Aunt B., you’re so randy. But have you taken a look at my giant picture of a 16 week old fetus?!" and I could tie him to a chair, climb up on it, set my ample butt right on his head, put one stiletto heel in each thigh and rest my hands on the chair back.
I would mull over my answer as I felt him squirming beneath me and then after a while, I would open my eyes, and say "’Ned,’ if that is indeed your real name, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to think carefully about it. Do you think women are stupid or evil or both?"
Or imagine me with Bill Hobbs. I’d throw him in my bathtub and stand up on the side of the tub, wearing a fabulously elaborate Mardi Gras costume, and while singing songs that remind me of New Orleans, I’d slowly start the tub to filling, while I dropped colored beads and toy school busses on him. You know I’d be taunting him with threats of federalization.
And Kleinheider? Why I’d insist that he take me to lunch, perhaps on down to O’Charley’s, and while I sat across from him seductively, somewhat absentmindedly stroking my boob freckle, I’d require him to eat. Then, I would put him across my lap and spank him until he admitted that wasn’t his phone in his pocket.
Granted, there’d be some conservatives I’d have to deny my services to. Blake and Krumm? You two are right off the list. Blake would just do his cute little eye roll thing and I’d start to smile and laugh and I’d be unable to maintain the bad-ass decorum necessary to do my job well. Same with Krumm and his infectious smile.
But shoot, if I could only get my hands on Stacey Campfield or Bill Frist or Karl Rove…
Tiny Cat Pants 