Ewe Left Your Heart in San Francisco

Marcus and Michele Bachmann cite the case of their purported friend Janet Boynes to prove that homosexuality is a lifestyle choice that one can repudiate with the baby Jesus’s help.. Here we see her first as she was when she was a big, butch lesbo who probably enjoyed softball, and then as the vision of loveliness she became when she embraced normality. I submit that if the latter version and Beyonce were to enter a restaurant dining room from opposite ends, there would be only a few fewer eyes on La Boynes than on the universally adored pop diva.

In her book Called Out, Boynes asserts that the fight for same-sex marriage is just a prelude to the legal acceptance of pedophilia and bestiality, and I must admit that, as one who lived for years in permissive, if picturesque, San Francisco, I agree with her, at least in the case of bestiality. You literally never see a ewe on the streets of that city, or a goat, or a calf, or the larger, more attractive breeds of dog, the simple reason being that perverts (who started with homosexuality as dope fiends commonly start with marihuana), are hoarding them all, and hiding them from one another in safe houses they rent from the gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered movement. And you wondered why there are more pet shops per capita in San Francisco than in any other city in the America, and more livestock veterinarians!

One of the big problems facing those of us intent on eradicating homosexuality in all its forms, of course, is that many men are secretly ambivalent about lesbianism. While few can stomach the idea of two women who resemble Janet Boynes in her lesbo incarnation stimulating each other with their fingers or tongues, to mention only the least distasteful possibilities, but most men, in their hearts of heart, yearn to be involved in a threesome with a pair of hotties in Victoria's Secret attire, and such an arrangement would of course be a lot more fun if the gals were willing, for instance, to try to stick their tongues down each other’s throats or fondle each other’s implants while one is impaled on the fellow's erect penis and the other perched prettily on his face. 

Not of course, that it’s possible to feel anything but sickened by such nonprocreative shenanigans in anything but the heat of the moment.