I Would Fuck John McCain’s Wife

WARNING: The following words you are about to hear with your eyes contain offensive language and graphic details about me fucking the shit out of John McCain's wife.

That glassy, seductive stare. That experienced confidence. That…old body.

Cindy Hensley McCain, will you do me the Honor of letting me rape you? If I vote for your husband, will you pay me back by giving me your vagina in not-marriage?

I may not support John McCain's policies, but I support everything about your body, Mrs. McCain. And I know it's fragile, brittle, and delicate. And I will treat it right. By just fuckin' slaying you. Just obliterating all your holes and crevices. Fuckin' violating every inch of your body.

I would fillibuster your vag. I would veto your virginity.

Sure, I'd fuck Barack Obama's wife. Why not. But she'd fuck anyone. Where's the fun in that?

I need a good challenge. With Mrs. McCain (you sexy bitch), it'd be hard work to get into her blouse and/or stockings and/or polyester skirt, and peel off her itchy nylons, but when that glorious sexcapade eventually happens, it would be worth the wait. The anticipating and impatient waiting would make that special time so much better.

Now, normally I'm disgusted by MILFs, and GILFs (if there are any). I believe cougars should be shot – the animal and the women. I'm more of a 15 to 18 y/o range guy.

But I'm almost positive Mrs. McCain's sexual needs are being ignored. Not because she's menopausing. The cobwebs in her uterus come from John McCain traveling non-stop, buried in his campaign, and when he and the special lady finally get that chance to have a romantic fuck time, ol' McCain's too burnt out, tired, and old to get his dong up. But Miss McCain's vagina is rarin' and ready to go! She's wetter than her dentures down there.

Don't get me wrong. This wouldn't be romantic, loving sex. This would be angry, violent, too passionate, hurtful, bloody, grissly, rape-caliber fucking. I'm gonna torture your vag like those Viatnamese tortured your husband.

I'm going to come over to your house or tour bus, light a few candles, and start giving you a sensual back rub. I'll say "I'm Paul Frank, and I approve this massage. You'd laugh, and that's when I'd just fuckin' dig my long, scratchy nails deep into your soft, smooth skin, tear your clothes off, and just go to town on you with the velocity of a jackhammer on a kilo of cocaine drilling for free oil in Canada.