'President ate me out' claims First Lady, Laura Bush
By our woman with her finger on the 'G' spot of America,
|WASHINGTON — In a surprise statement that has shocked America and raised hopes among disgruntled Democrats that President George W Bush might be impeached for 'un-American activities', a leaked diary describes in graphic detail what one pundit called 'a disgusting catalogue of sexual perversions'|
Utterpants has obtained a transcript of the steamy confession from a tall bloke in a dark suit and sunglasses who insisted we keep his identity secret, but asked us to call him 'Karl'.
'Karl' went on to tell us that far from taking steps to deny the confession,
Mrs Bush is alleged to have said: 'This'll teach that two-timing asshole
that he can't fuck with me and get away with it'. When asked to explain
what she meant, our source tapped his nose conspirationally and said:
'George has been playing away from home again and Laura isn't prepared
to take it any more."
"Hello. I’m Laura Bush. Some of you may know me as the President’s wife. Others of you may know me as a recently converted stripper from the Bronx. But for simplicity’s sake, let’s just think of me as the First Lady.
In these trying and threatening times of terrorism and democratic elections, it’s easy for my husband to target the opposition with the most blatant of lies. Like he is a loving, family man, devoted to pleasing his wife and family. Never mind that the sonofabitch skipped duty in the service, was once arrested for drunk driving, or raped a black underage welfare recipient, knocked her up, and then paid for her abortion. But I’m here to present a very different side to George; a power-crazed meglomaniacal sex pervert who wants to rule the world.
Many of you probably remember the pretzel incident, in the winter of 2003. George said he choked on a pretzel, passed out, and suffered a slightly bruised cheek. While technically true, it isn't the whole story. George didn’t want to release the true details for fear of embarrassing himself. But in the interest of the future of America, I will now describe the events of that Sunday exactly as I remember them.
The truth is I was horny as hell. Yes, even Texas librarians get horny every once in awhile. Usually I just fondle myself in the shower, or ask the Filipino pool boy to give me a quick rub down, but there are times when I want — no I need — a good ole Texan wang pounded in me hard and brutal.
I had my paws all over George as soon as I entered the Oral Office that day. He was sitting behind the desk, and I swiped all the memos away — including the one that said Bin Laden Determined to Strike in US. Hell, that Bin Laden guy was gonna hafta wait! Today was my turn to play Monica. I climbed atop the Oval Office desk, wrapped my legs around George's neck, and began to unbutton his collar. “Come on, Mr. President. You be Jack and I’ll be Marilyn,” I breathed hotly into his ear.
He pushed me away. “Not now, darlin’. The game’s
about to start.”
Now, I’m no football expert or anything, but it soon became real clear real that Miami was as toasted as those fat cats at Enron. They came out swingin’ at first, like they were out for blood, as the President so eloquently put it, but they did what most guys do... fizzle out before halftime. George could only sit there, yell at the TV, chow down on beer and pretzels while I sat by dryin’ up like the Sahara by the minute. I tried to seduce George at halftime, but to be honest; he seemed more interested in John Madden than he did me.
“When does intermission get over?”
He walked up to me then, and I expected him to get upset, but he embraced
me with a full lipped kiss. Had he not belched in the middle of it,
the kiss would’ve been very romantic. And there I was, standing
in the White House with the President’s tongue in my mouth, the
same tongue that stumbled over subliminal and to this day cannot pronounce
nuclear. I was falling in love with him all over again. Eat your heart
out Monica Lewinsky. You’re not the only one with the ability
to give the President a hard on.
At one point in the second half of the football game, George stood
up, cursed at the TV, and made a telephone call. “Karl, have the
ref that just blew that call fired.” He slammed down the phone
and then smirked in that presidential way he has.
I tried to make him feel better with a back rub. He turned the TV off
and relaxed back into the couch. I began unbuttoning his shirt while
straddling his waist. With the release of each button, I felt his hardness
begin to grow beneath me, like a growing rock. Well, more like a growing
pebble. But we have a saying here in Texas — it’s not how
big the bone is, it’s how deep ya bury it.
I wasn't used to being watched so intently during sex, at least not
by anyone other than Karl Rove. I tried to get my mind back on the subject
in hand. I began running my fingers through George’s chest hair
and started undressing him again, unbuttoning his pants, and sliding
off his boxers with the Presidential seal on them. When he reached out
to grab me, his hand swung around the dining room table and knocked
over several Corona bottles and a bowl of pretzels. One pretzel landed
squarely on his stomach.
I bore you with the details? Of course I should.
We paused to look into each other’s eyes. George pulled his pretzel out of me. It was now very wet and it looked like it was covered with white chocolate. I noticed the First Penis begin to salute, as he raised the pretzel up to his parted lips and put it into his mouth, dripping with my cum. But he didn’t bite down, instead he swallowed without chewing it first, and the pretzel slid down his throat and began to choke him. I married a moron!
That mischievous lustful look in his eyes was replaced with the fear
of death. His hands went to his neck and his face started to turn very
The story has since come out that George choked on a pretzel and fell off the couch onto the floor. As you can see, the story is completely true but it leaves out the more charming details. George even decided to teach the country a lesson with his little mishap. “My mother was right, always chew your food,” he’s told us. That George... if he isn’t the most insightful philosophic President we’ve ever had, I don’t know who is. However, I rather doubt his mother explicitly warned him about chewing pretzels covered in cum. I know the next time George goes down on me, I’m going to make him chew twenty times before swallowing. It’s my civic duty, after all. Well no, on second thoughts, I won’t tell him to chew, unless he’s going down on Hillary Clinton."
Story © 2004 Jennifer Gardner. Picture & design © 2004 utterpants.co.uk / 200904