Here at the offices of Cerebral Itch, we get a lot of letters. Most of them are manifestos describing the end of days or real nutcases asking us to send them used manwhore shirts worn by one our hot interns. But every once and a while, a letter comes in that blows us away. The below letter is an unsolicited email the we received from a "reliable" source talking about an experience with the embattled Idaho Republican senator, Larry Craig.
Dear Cerebral Itch Scratch Pad,
I'm a long-time reader and first-time writer. I love your blog, it's fabulous!
So I realized there's a time in one's life where you walk in from the kitchen while the television's on and realize that you have an intimate connection to the news story that's being broadcast. The last time this happened was in 2001 when Ricky Martin was performing at Bush's inauguration and I realized he was wearing my bespoke charcoal cashmere winter coat he obviously stole after the sordid one-night-stand we shared at the D.C. Ritz-Carlton. When I saw that sexy son of a bitch in my coat dancing with that election-stealing moron I knew that it would be another cold day in January before I'd let his ass in my bed.
Well it happened again yesterday when I see that "Lip-Smacking" Larry (as most of us referred to the senior Republican senator from Idaho) was outed for his reckless public bathroom cruising. This withered old queen had been nothing more than a nuisance for more than 30 years in old foggy bottom. He made Mark Foley look like a twink with stage fright in comparison. And when he would start railing on the senate floor about the collapse of American culture thanks to the liberals and most especially the gays, we all knew he was setting himself up for a serious news cycle that was going to give his wife carte blanche at the first meeting of their respective divorce lawyers.
He used to hit on me when I was a page for of all people, Barney Frank. He would give me the old saw about not getting the kind of loving he deserved from his wife and that he just needed some masculine companionship that would in turn serve me quite well in furthering my career. I told him that I was dating a woman at the time (in fact, I was just being a beard for a young lady that turned out later to be Donna Shalala's girlfriend during the Clinton years). He wouldn't take "no" for an answer. He kept pressing the issue and telling me that he and some boys from the Department of the Interior (I loved that double entendre) were getting a leather party together and he thought I would have fun. I was getting really angry at this point and told the old queen to piss off. He in turn became upset, especially when I said he reminded me of James Dobson's gay twin brother.
One summer night at the Capitol, the old hippocrate followed me into the men's restroom where I felt the only way I could get away from him was to take refuge in a stall. He proceeded to get in the stall next to me and do this little toe tap thing apparently indicating that he was in heat; to which I replied " for Christ sake you old queen why don't you just ask for a blow job and be done with it?" He then hurriedly scurried from the stall never to torment me again.
You tell us if that isn't some good dirt?! We plan to sell this story exclusively to BRAVO who is cutting us in to co-produce a weekly show dedicated to Republican gay sex scandals - sweet!