Last edited: February 01, 2005


Sex Tips From Rick Santorum

In which the noxiously homophobic Republican senator answers your naughty e-mail

San Francisco Chronicle, April 25, 2003
901 Mission St., San Francisco, CA 94103
Fax: 415-896-1107
Email: letters@sfchronicle.com

By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist

The e-mail box of Sen. Rick Santorum, R-Pa., has been positively overflowing following his gleefully homophobic and moronic comments about, in part, gays and the gay lifestyle, wherein he stated that homosexuality is not only a dire threat to the sanctity of the American family but also the immoral equivalent of incest, pedophilia, adultery, undercooked shellfish, bestiality, acne, smelly socks, bounced checks, and fornicating loudly with large beanbag chairs from Ikea.

Clearly an expert on the subject of love and human sexuality, we considered asking the toxically small-minded senator, who happens to be the Senate’s third-ranked Republican, to respond to some particularly lascivious reader queries.

Anticipating his refusal, and using the original AP interview as a guide, we have recreated what the senator might say were he, as we imagine he regularly is, heavily sedated on Xanax and Nyquil and cheap-ass Cabana Boy rum ...

Dear Sen. Santorum, R-Pa.:
My boyfriend really wants me to talk dirty to him during sex, but I feel so embarrassed. I want to please him, but I’ve always been such a good girl! What can I do?
—Potty-Mouth Wannabe, San Diego

Dear PMW: 
By all means, talk that dirty talk. I personally find discussions of Pennsylvania soil conditions and waste management during my monthly 2.7 minutes of frenetic jackrabbit procreative gyrations to be strangely invigorating and sort of numbly stimulating, especially if I include an explicit fantasy featuring me in a latex bodysuit spanking the bejeezus out of those darn gay environmentalists, them with their greasy dreadlocks. Eww!

Dear Sen. Santorum, R-Pa.:
I’m a proud straight football-loving beer-drinkin’ male who loves his SUVs big and his baseball hats backward. Lately I’ve found that I really enjoy anal stimulation during sex with my girlfriend. Increasingly, my fantasies involve this totally mega-bitchin’ hot act. Does this mean I’m gay?
—Homo in my Michelob, Florida

Dear Homo:
Yes, it most certainly does. And while I have nothing against you as a person per se, I must say I do very much loathe and despise and consider a desperate threat to the very fabric of humanity as a whole those disgusting unspeakable things you are doing. You are a vile unhealthy abominable AIDS-latent family-destroying sinner, and I’m deeply terrified of everything you do and stand for and insert into your perverted little body.

But, that said, I fully accept you. Go, Jets!

Dear Sen. Santorum, R-Pa.:
My girlfriend really loves her Hitachi Magic Wand vibrator and uses it almost every day, along with a variety of other sleek insertable toys. We still have lots of good sex, but I’m a little intimidated. Is her love for these gadgets a threat to my manhood? Am I not enough for her?
—A Manly Vibe, Oklahoma City

Dear Manly:
I’m afraid I have no clue as to what the heck you are talking about. Hitachi? Like the TV sets? What you describe certainly sounds debauched and illegal and quite possibly homosexual and a true abomination against God. And, like I always say, if it sounds icky and wrong, it probably is.

Then again, if you are speaking of fine foreign-made appliances, I am terribly fond of my spinning shoe buffer machine from Sharper Image, which I like to sit on sideways and crank to full volume and moan softly. As for gadgets, I simply love to send flirty little text messages to myself on my PalmPilot and then giggle like a schoolgirl when I receive them later during my daily leeching.

Dear Sen. Santorum, R-Pa.:
Ever since enduring Dubya’s insipid little war and bearing witness to the international humiliation and resentment America now faces, I’ve been unable to achieve orgasm. Right as I’m about to climax, up pops Rummy’s ink-black eyes or Ari Fleischer’s puling sneer or Dubya’s dumb-as-nails smirk and, poof, the moment is ruined. Should I turn off Fox News? Watch more porn? Join the military? See a priest? Help!
—Gasping in Virginia

Dear Gasping:
Let me just state here and now that the entire concept of orgasm makes me more than a little uneasy. The most intense pleasure I’ve ever felt was when I ran over that peace activist in my Escalade just after sniffing some ether.

The truck lurched, hot cocoa spilled all over my lap and I positively swooned and could’ve sworn I saw Jesus. Now, that’s climaxing. Everyone should feel that once in their lives. Well, that and John Ashcroft’s inner thighs. They’re amazing. You know those lime Jell-O mold desserts with the little hunks of pineapple in them? They feel just like that. Yowza!

Dear Sen. Santorum, R-Pa.:
Lately, my husband has taken to wearing my skimpy thong underwear and a lace bra on the weekends and prancing around the house and singing show tunes from “Cabaret.” He’s 6’5”, 240 pounds. Normally, this doesn’t bother me much, but lately he’s taken to smearing my good L’Oreal makeup all over his face, pretending to be Liza Minnelli. It’s ruining the upholstery, and it’s disturbing the kids. My question is, do you have any tips on how to get lipstick off a Barcalounger?
—Stained in Texas

Dear Stained:
Let me put it this way: I’m not saying homos are bad per se. I’m just saying they scare the hell out of me, OK? I don’t understand it, I don’t like it, I repress everything even remotely sexual or kinky deep, deep down into a volatile little putrefied knot in the base of my gut, slap on a big plastic grin as my left eye twitches uncontrollably, and get back to work. Tick tick tick, am I right?

Sadly enough, the state doesn’t have the right to limit individuals’ wants and passions such as your husband’s perverted underwear thing. I disagree with that. I think we absolutely have the right to, because there are consequences to letting people live out whatever wants or passions they desire. You know, just like the Nazis.

Dear Sen. Santorum, R-Pa.:
After a tough day on the Senate floor, I very much enjoy slamming back an entire rack of Coors Light, firing up Celine Dion on the boom box, lathering myself in Redi-Whip, Crisco and 10W-30 motor oil and riding around my office on a big pogo stick I’ve nicknamed “Ass-croft” while flagellating myself with a large leather whip and making funny choo-choo-train noises. Does this mean I’m gay?
—I Feel Free, Washington, D.C.

Dear Free:
I see you mock Senator Santorum, R-Pa. I see you perhaps have seen a copy of the secret videotapes of Senator Santorum, R-Pa., engaging in certain drunken lathery choo-choo activities in his office during Senate recess that he would very much like to keep private.

Perhaps you would like to send Sen. Santorum your personal e-mail address so the good senator may contact you with offers of potential cash money to perhaps pipe down? Is this what you are saying? Because the senator is prepared to do just that.

Or perhaps you would like the senator’s private home address so you may come over and show Daddy what you’re really made of, is that it? Does someone need a big bad spanking from big daddy senator? Yes? Bad, bad boy! Who’s your big bad homophobic governmental daddy? Senator Santorum, that’s who! Call me.

Dear Sen. Santorum, R-Pa.:
I’m a little worried about my dog, Binkers. He’s acting all crazy. Runs around the house all day humping the furniture and whimpering like mad. If I turn on Fox News, he starts salivating and howling and going into spasms. They had Lynne Cheney on “The O’Reilly Factor” once, and he almost exploded. My question is, can excessive masturbation really make you go blind?
—Doggie Style, Idaho

Dear Doggie:
Let me be perfectly clear. Anything you claim you see in those videos will never stand up in court, do you understand? Especially the scenes where I’m clearly wearing the Mao mask and jumping on the couch naked, waving around a string of kielbasa sausages and singing “My Heart Will Go On.” Except for the tattoos and the genital piercing, you can’t even tell it’s me, especially through the haze of opium smoke, OK? So don’t even try.

Whoops gotta run. They’re voting on sodomy law back on the floor. Makes me all tingly just thinking about it. Bye now.


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