I’m not voting for Hillary because of anything she has said. I’m not about change. I don’t have a new vision for America. What I have is a twisted fantasy I’ve been sitting on for ten years. I want to be the next Monica Lewinsky, but I’m not going to get there if Obama wins. My sexual ego would never need stroking again if I was the one who did the President. What makes my fantasy even better is that I’m not a good looking guy. I’m 6′ tall, and 280lbs. I maintain my girlish figure by sticking to the four food groups: “Candy, Candy canes, Candy Corn and Syrup.” And it isn’t a good illicit affair unless the guy she’s seeing is uglier than Monica.
“Mr. Korioth, you’ve broken up a marriage, you have publically humiliated the President, and now she may be impeached over this indiscretion; what do you say to the millions of Americans who consider you as the man who destroyed this country?”
“Yeah, my penis will do that.”
It would be like winning the ego lottery. But actually having sex with Hillary isn’t really part of my fantasy. The real fantasy begins when Bill and I throw down. Twenty minutes after she throws all his cloths into the rose garden, (lets not forget they are from Little Rock) Bill tells the secret service to stand down, and we go bare knuckles on white house lawn; broadcast live on CNN. Even though I don’t know any martial arts I win the fight, al la Lethal Weapon, with a roundhouse kick to his head. Hillary lets me in, and I am the new first man. That’s how I roll. It’s how its done in the big leagues. But, once again, that isn’t going to happen if Obama wins.
Well, I guess it could. But Michelle Obama would probably kick my ass, and I don’t think I’d win any ego points for having sex with Barack. Maybe a few.