I have always tried to create a sense of respect and adventure for every person working in my congressional office. It is why I kiss on the lips and give out adventurer names like "Tuck" and "Briscoe." I began my journey into this horny hell over nineteen years ago, smacking and whacking whatever I dang well pleased, and I refuse to allow my legacy of lowering taxes on big game hunters to be tarnished by the ongoing witch hunt in Washington over Pleasure Rooms.
Given the nature of numerous allegations and reports across America in recent weeks, I want to first make one thing completely clear. I have absolutely never physically intimidated, coerced, hoodwinked, bamboozled, or shanghaied anybody into my office's Pleasure Room. I never got them in there with a trap door. If they went on the lube Slip 'N Slide it was of their own accord. If they did poppers with me at 3 AM that was entirely optional. I never required a single person in this office to have my baby and god damn anybody who claims otherwise.
However, I do want to take full and personal responsibility for building the Pleasure Room. It was constructed completely to my specifications including the installation of the endless spanker and the "Horny Susan." Now some will claim I offered to lick women's feet but the key word there is "offered." If a man can't go up to a woman and offer her ten Free Toe Sucking coupons then what is even happening to us as a country? Are we still free to even pay a woman a compliment like "I want to die in your ass and become a ghost and haunt your seriously good ass" or "Here I bought you a glue gun and a bell so you can cover it with all the seed I'm going to be giving you."
I feel like in this paranoid atmosphere I can't even ask a pretty girl to go to the bathroom in my waste can.
Now, a lot of these misunderstandings are related to my dumbass wife's fucked up pussy. It practically doesn't work and it's a mess. Just disgusting. So what do you expect me to do with that thing? It makes me want to throw up. She couldn't even dump out a kid, I had to hire some woman to take pipe and carry that baby around for nine months. Trust me, it wasn't cheap. I figured I could save some money and get some of the ladies around the office to pitch in and let me knock them up for a while.
No biggie, right? They're on government healthcare. I want to have a few more kids in the prime of my life at age 64. They get a job. Everybody wins.
The kids I already had with that surrogate woman are just the worst, dumb as shit, and they keep asking for siblings. So I was really hoping I could make some worthwhile kids. I'm not talking about the next Joel Osteen. A simple Biblical average kid who has some technical basketball skills and respect for the flag would have been good enough.
Oh, but noooooooo suddenly it's wrong to invite all women in my office into the Pleasure Room. I can't hold something called "Fertility Night" on a giant trampoline and have all the ladies draw a name from a hat to see who they will be having a baby with. Was it because I was all the names in the hat? I was the only man in the office!
We are in an unusual moment in history – there is collective focus on a very important problem of justice and sexual impropriety. It is so important that we get this right for everyone, especially for victims. Like me. The pleasure man just trying to be the pleasure dad.
Damn it, anyone could have used those stripper poles. I could have used them. The Sybian I bought is good for the lumbars. What do you want from me? Can a man do anything anymore?
Not in this horny, horny hell. Which is why I am stepping down to spend more time with my family in the Pleasure Room. At least they get it.
Save the guinea worm? Him good worm. Part of environment. Green jobs.
This space-age device is a cardboard box with two holes in it. The operative sticks a hand in one end. The contact inserts a hand in the other end. With both hands shielded from prying eyes, a secret handshake can commence.
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