That was a bit of a kick in the junk, I tell you, but I’m not the sort of person who will let Big Government keep him down! With this in mind I have started an Adult Entertainment Film Company called Naughty America
and have been writing a series of pornographic scripts for American patriot and sex bomb county clerk Kim Davis, who gained international attention after defying a US federal court order requiring that she issue marriage licenses to same sex couples.
Script #1
(Kim Davis, wearing sweat pants and a sports bra is sitting in the stands at a baseball stadium drinking a beer and watching a young man take batting practice. It is early evening and it appears that Kim and the nubile athlete are the only people there. Sax music plays in the background.)
Kim: You’re just as black as night, aren’t you?
Baseball player: Un día voy a ser rico a través de mis esfuerzos , si Dios quiere.
Kim: (Takes off top and tosses her mullet) I like the way you handle that wood.
Baseball player: (Stops hitting, spits on the ground) I will sex with you once, $100, no lip touches.
Kim: Let it rain, baby, let it rain.
Script #2
(Mug Shot of Kim Davis, background slowly turning into an undulating American flag)
Voiceover: My name is Kim Davis and I’m an American patriot. When God said let there be marriage, he said it was between Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, okay? I am a warrior for God, damn it, and if they put me in prison, well, they’re just putting me closer to God, so it’s really like a promotion. Like the Good Book says, “Then the Philistines seized him and gouged out his eyes; and they brought him down to Gaza and bound him with bronze chains, and he was a grinder in the prison. So there.”
(Fade out and then fade in to scene of Kim Davis naked in the shower. She is very slowly washing herself, and as this progresses, this slow, tender cleansing, she begins to speak to Jesus)
Kim: Clean me, sweet Jesus, clean the hell out of me. There Jesus, there’s a real dirty spot! Clean it, my divine Lord who looks just like Kid Rock, clean it faster!!
That’s it, that’s the purity I’m looking for sweet Lord, that’s it. Oh, you are a good and just Lord, amen, yes, amen!
Script #3
(Kim Davis is in a confessional, Pope Francis is listening on the other side)
Kim: Forgive me father for I have sinned. I am like, crazy turned-on by hot homo guys going at it. (Scene changes to gay sex between two men, while Kim’s voice continues her confession)
Oh, I like them when they’re smooth and when they’re hairy, I like how hard everything is and how they’re as powerful as America or a truck. (A naked Kim Davis is now in the scene with the men) It makes me want to roll around with them, to be their carpet and absorb everything!
Pope Francis: It sounds as if the fever dream a young priest once told unto me in a quiet and dark nook of the Vatican. In his telling, the Rosary beads were for more than just praying, they became a conduit to truly transcendent, Godly feeling. Oh, Brother William, I miss him so.
]]>Heidi, our dog:
Our eight-year old Miniature Dachshund has a mysterious marking that looks a little bit like a scar on her nose. When we asked the breeder about this she became very nervous and evasive, worrying the Rosary Beads she had around her neck. She told us it was a “bee sting,” but then begged us not to ask any more questions, knocking $50 off the price for Heidi, “Just take her now, please!!”
Since we took her, we did some research and found out that she was rejected by a previous family. The dog, apparently excited, jumped on the family’s three-year old daughter, knocking her over onto a coffee table. The girl hit her head and was rendered unconscious. The family found her probably about ten minutes after the encounter, with Heidi licking the blood off her head so that it was all over her muzzle. The family was utterly traumatized. The girl fell into a coma, and although she survived, she now has an imaginary friend named Heidi who makes her do bad things. The family returned Heidi, our dog, to the breeder immediately after the incident. It was the fourth time Heidi had been returned to the breeder by frightened families.
Heidi has knocked me down on at least seven different occasions.
The Crying Boy:
This print, by the Italian artist, Bruno Amadio, was “given” to us by a friend who said he no longer had space for it as he had moved. The painting is huge, perhaps seven feet by five feet, and it looms massively above our living room sofa. Wherever you are, the crying boy is staring at you. We have had the painting for 1 year, and in that time I have been fired from 6 jobs, got shingles and assaulted 4 people. The painting is cursed. I tried to burn it once, but it was impervious to flames.
Heidi’s toy, Belial:
The breeder hastily shoved this toy into Heidi’s crate just as we were about to drive away, “It’s named Belial,” she shouted, “ it is of your dog!” We thought it was a pretty weird thing to say, but whatever. As it turns out, this squeak toy is indestructible. I have thrown it out at least a dozen times and even gone so far as to bury it in the backyard, but it always returns, lying at the end of our bed, staring at us with it’s dead, demon eyes.
Sometimes, when Heidi is playing with it and there’s a frenzy of squeaking in the apartment, Rachelle and I can sometimes hear recognizable phrases forming amidst the cacophony. ” Four-eyes must die,” “Drown him in blood,” “Eat all his food,” “His fear feeds you.” Once, I woke up from a nightmare*(see next entry) to see Belial in the chandelier above our bed just staring down at me. It was the most chilling thing I have ever felt.
Squirrel Pelt Blanket:
When we first got this blanket as a gift, we kept it at the foot of our bed, but both Rachelle and I were plagued by horrible dreams about being a squirrel and getting hunted down and skinned by an old, West Pennsylvania Mountain Man. The same dream, again and again and again. They were utterly terrifying and we’d both wake up screaming, the dog shrieking, too. When we moved the blanket and put it on a radiator in the living room, the nightmares stopped, although squirrels, baleful and lost, often mass on the fire escape outside the window and just stare in at it, as if in silent, foreboding judgment.
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