Rush Limbaugh Stuffs Wooden Deer In Rick Perry’s Ass; Mooner Forced To Teach Gay Pig And Ostrich Sex Ed

 

So. I’ve only got time to dash off a quickie this morning. I’ve a full Thursday schedule and each entry is important to accomplish today. First we’ll go pick the remains of our drought-ravaged garden for whatever produce we can take down to the food bank. The already seventy days of 100-plus degrees summer temps have pretty much dry-boiled everything. Melons and cukes and a few peppers are all we have left in any quantities.

After that, it’s off to the vet with the Squirt, Honor the cat and Rick Perry. The cat needs her one-year check up, my giant ostrich needs a rectal exam, and Squirt’s adorable little tooter is infected again. As for the cat, I’m guessing that she’s a year old. Not being a cat person, a guess is the best I can do. The only cat we ever had out here to the ranch was this black monster of Gram’s named Lucifer.

Use your imagination.

The Squirt has a flap of vaginal skin that traps moisture around the cute little heart-shaped vulva that hangs from her hiney. I try to keep it treated with medicated wipes, but the summer heat seems to give her what seems to me to be a yeast infection back there.

The gay ostrich is another situation altogether. My Aunt Hilda, who lives in Gram’s wing of the ranch house with her shrunken-head-in-a-box she calls Dubbie J, collects rodent figurines. My crazy old aunt has hundreds of mice and rats and rabbits and a bunch of the hoven-foot variety of rodent—deer. I wish deer would just go the fuck away. They are almost as destructive as wild pigs and people actually feed them to help sustain untenable herds of the antlered fuckers.

Anyway, Rick Perry was up early this morning banging me on the shoulder with his shovel-sized beak in an attempt to wake me from a dream. I don’t have time to tell you about the dream save to say one thing. Think, “Three-holed condoms.”

Since it was as cool as it will be all day at 5 am, I decided to get up with my pet bird and walk outside with him. He had a pained expression on his face as he walked in circles looking for an appropriate spot for his morning constitutional. Usually this is a thirty-second dance before he plops an eight-pound load to the turf. This morning’s dance more resembled a frantic game of Musical Chairs.

He’d circle, squat and grunt, crane his long neck to look at his butt with those billiard ball eyes of his—grimace—and circle some more. After maybe fifteen minutes of this silliness, I walked into his flight path… OK, wait. He can’t actually fly, but like I said, he was flying around in frantic circles. I managed to get him stopped.

“What’s wrong, big guy?” I queried. “You look distressed.”

He looked at me, craned his neck to look at his ass and then back at me. He cocked his head from side-to-side as he stared into my eyes like he was attempting a Vulcan mind meld.

“Oh, I get it, you want me to look at your ass.”

My answer was him shuffling his ass around and jamming it in my face. I was 6’4” before I started shrinking and I’m still north of 6’3”. Rick Perry’s ass was nearly at eye level. I backed off to give myself room to focus just as the big bird made his “taking a shit” move.

Thank god nothing came out.

I spied something irregular protruding from his fuzzy anus. “Whatthefuckisthat, Ricky? It looks like you’ve got tree growing out your ass.”

I looked closer. “Oh for shitsakes, you are disgusting!”

What I mistook for a tree was actually one of Aunt Hilda’s wooden deer figurines—a buck with a huge rack of antlers. “How in the ever-loving fuck did you get that stuck up your…”

Ick. Fucking ick. ICK and YUK and UGH!

Look, I understand that ass play is an important part of homosexual sex. Hell, it’s a part of any kind of sex. But a foot-long, four-legged wooden deer statue with an eight-inch rack of pointy horns?

“OK, young man. After I take you to the vet to get this thing removed from your ass, I’m sitting you and Rush Limbaugh down for another sex education lesson. When I told you it was OK to stick stuff up your butt, I expected you to be smart about it. I know you guys don’t have fingers—but a fucking wooden deer?”

Now he started crying and put his thirty-pound head on my shoulder, his smelly yellow-staining tears soaking into my UT tee shirt. “It’s OK, buddy. My bad. I should have given you a few options for use as butt plugs.”

One of the reasons I named the giant bird who runs in circles and hides his head from ridicule “Rick Perry” is because he lacks any measurable native intelligence. “I should have known to give you more information. How about I take you over to the sex toy shop after the vet?”

I walked him into the house and called to leave a message for the vet that he’d be seeing the Johnson cat, dog and ostrich today.

The thought that somehow Rush Limbaugh the pig stuffed a foot-long deer statue up his gay lover’s ass is… well it’s unsettling.

I’d drink a Carta Blanca beer if I didn’t have to drive. Manana, y’all.

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4 Responses to “Rush Limbaugh Stuffs Wooden Deer In Rick Perry’s Ass; Mooner Forced To Teach Gay Pig And Ostrich Sex Ed”

  1. Squatlo says:

    You’re a sick and twisted individual, Mooner. I like those qualities in a person.

  2. Squat. Twisted is my middle name.

    FUCK RICK PERRY!

  3. Ick Rick Perry.
    A wooden deer up your ass?
    That’s downright nasty.

  4. Reck, my haiku doll;
    Smart, sexy, full of fire angel.
    Rick Perry–Fuck him.

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