Oh, Shit, How Jesus Loves Samuel Alito:
Last Friday, in the wake of the Miers withdrawal and the great, huge, sigh of "dodged that hand spike," we members of the Family Research Council's Super-Duper Prayer Squad were implored to plead to Jesus, "May President Bush nominate and may the Senate confirm the candidate of God's choosing to the Supreme Court - someone with unquestionable qualifications - who will wholly uphold the U.S. Constitution as written by our forefathers." We were asked to look at Deuteronomy 17:15, which reads, a la King James, "Thou shalt in any wise set him king over thee, whom the LORD thy God shall choose: one from among thy brethren shalt thou set king over thee: thou mayest not set a stranger over thee, which is not thy brother." And then to check out, strangely, Psalms 75:6: "For promotion cometh neither from the east, nor from the west, nor from the south." And, since we're gettin' all Old Testament, we were told to look at Proverbs 21:1: "The king's heart is in the hand of the LORD, as the rivers of water: he turneth it whithersoever he will."

So the impression we got from the Bible is we that we super-duper praying people want someone from the north who we know who will be our king, chosen by God, who will, well, shit, looks like, hold God's hand and turn like a river? What the fuck?

But there's a couple of different kinds of lap dances you can get if yer a guy and yer into women. You can get the kind where the stripper grinds her g-stringed ass against you, rubbin' you into a hard-on, knowin' right when you're about to shoot off and backin' off, backin' off, leavin' you enlarged and weepin', wantin' more, ready to throw more money at those titties 'cause you love that fuckin' cocktease. And then there's the lap dance where the stripper just wants to get you off as quickly as possible, essentially fuckin' you silly until your sticky pants are chafing her ass. She also knows what she's doin', 'cause the quicker she makes you blow your wad, the more time she has to just shake her ass without touchin' your skeevy groin.

So, with Samuel Alito, not only were our super-duper prayer team chants justified (hell, the Rude Pundit sacrificed three goats, a neighbor's ferret, and a hobo to please that Old Testament God), but all over America you could hear the orgasmic squeals of long-engorged fundamentalist balls, swollen to the size of cantaloupes, releasing gushes, waves of backed-up, long-teased semen. Lots of pants had to be changed first thing in the morning yesterday. And he's from the north. Our prayers were answered. God is good.

Here's the Family Research Council's Tony "All Out Of Psycho Jokes" Perkins on the Alito nomination: "Judge Alito's record demonstrates the integrity, impartiality and commitment to the constitution that are absolutely vital for any judge expected to serve honorably on the Supreme Court." The awesome part is that, after all the emphasis on how much Harriet Miers loves her some Jeeezus, Perkins and the FRC do not mention sweet-lovin' Christ at all in their ejaculations over Alito. Maybe we'll get to thank God when we get our prayin' orders this week.

More later on conservative jouissance over Alito. In the studio right now, listening to an actor imitate a dying squirrel monkey, adding more to the upcoming CD. Aah, art.