Mark Sanford's Line in the Twat:
So now we know: Mark Sanford likes anal. Totally and completely, he loves both taking the journey down the Hershey highway and being the road. Indeed, from his interview yesterday with AP, one can only infer that as long as he kept his cock away from other women's cunts, he felt safe that he wasn't betraying his wife or his mistress: "There were a handful of instances wherein I crossed the lines I shouldn't have crossed as a married man, but never crossed the ultimate line" with everyone not Argentinean.

So if you diagram a female body, one can assume where the lines were firm and where they were a bit fuzzy. Tits? More of a dotted line. Lips? No line at all. Such is the way for crawfishing politicians of all stripes. It's not that there's a vaginal wall, per se, but a kind of selective force field that prevents penile penetration, but allows fingers, tongues, and implements of various sorts. That went for all non-spouses except one, about whom Sanford actually said, "I will be able to die knowing that I had met my soul mate," a line that should automatically be accompanied with a ceremonial "handing over of the balls."

As the South Carolina governor said, comparing his other female encounters with his affair with Maria Chapur, "Without wandering into that field we'll just say that I let my guard down in all senses of the word without ever crossing the line that I crossed with this situation." Beware the fields you can wander into on a woman's body, motherfuckers, they're not just myths.

With Sanford being all kinds of little bitch about his affair - trying to justify it by saying shit like, "This was a whole lot more than a simple affair, this was a love story. A forbidden one, a tragic one, but a love story at the end of the day," and offering that he is "trying" to fall back in love with his wife - without being man enough to just divorce his wife and move on with the women he is presumptively in love with, it's not that big a leap to assume that there was no line on the assholes of the other other women.

Indeed, if one wants to consummate with a woman and yet not violate any of her pentrative lines, the simple solution, and an obvious one, considering that Mark Sanford appears to be a bottom, even moreso than fellow South Carolinian Lindsey Graham, then probably Sanford offered up his own asshole to the women he met while going to "blow off steam" on male-only ventures to South America and elsewhere, as he told AP.

Yep, one can imagine that across the Andes and up and down the Amazon, from nothernmost Colombia to the southern tip of Chile, the people in the cities, the slums, the villages, are all familiar with the gulping, yowling sound Mark Sanford makes when he's fucked in the ass by a dildo, when a women he met dancing at some plaza took him back to her bed and he said, "Put on this strap-on. I'm married. With a mistress. There's lines I can't cross. Those lines are over your pussy. But don't worry. I'll ream your anus next."

In the deepest rainforest, in the hut of a tribe that has had little or no contact with the outside world, children ask their father, "What is that strange noise, like the sound a tamarin makes when it's getting eaten by a jaguar?"

And the father, probably with some long, sharp bone through his noise and a haircut like Moe Howard, will look sadly at his young ones and say, "That is the sound of a man crushing his own soul while something slams his prostate and makes him cum buckets." Of course, the sounds of birds, bugs, and jabbering monkeys would drown it out eventually.

(By the way, Dan Casey over at the Roanoke Times is running a contest with real prizes and shit. It's simple: Predict the next politician to go hiking the Appalachian Trail. Check it out.)