“Your $500 check has bounced; you can’t be on the ballot,” the Utah elections director tells me. He is coy, playful. “Come on,” I tease, bending over to reveal just a hint of my ample breasts. “Can’t we work something out?” He ponders a moment. “No.”
I just read this whole thing, and now I need a cold shower. In sulfuric acid.
oops! newt did it again, he plaid with his breasts
oh baby, baby
