I just have to say it. I have fantasies about Eric Cantor. Some might call it lust. He gives me Fever.
I long to give him the bitchslapping of his pampered little life, the bitchslapping he so richly deserves. The nature of my fantasies is so disturbing ( talk about taking The Top ), that I give thanks I am sober. Am I the only one?
I do not know what it is about him that gets me so crazy. I mean beside the fact that he lies with a cheerful smile on his face. Misrepresentation not-quite-illegal is the method du jour of the Effete Elite. So a slimy smile is not a new experience.
Maybe it is his voice. He squeaks. Or maybe his hair and his walk. I want to push his face into the sand box and grind. I want to pinch his little cheeks until he hollers. I want to give him the worst Indian Burn I can manage. I want to rip his boobies off.*
Call me crazy. You would be right. Not to worry, I am medicated for your safety. Would I do this? Only in my dreams. I am no slimy terrorist. I do have a rich full fantasy life.
*... with my teeth. I am so going to Hell.