I guess we’ve all heard the anti-gay statements of Rep. Sally Kern of Oklahoma City broadcast on youtube.com by the Gay & Lesbian Victory Fund. Kern was secretly taped ranting to a private audience of 50 Republicans. Among the things she said was that homosexuality was more dangerous than Islam and terrorism and that homosexuals are indoctrinating 2-year old children.

Kern’s defense is that she can say what she wants in America and, of course, she can. The problem for her is that so can I, and that’s why I’d like to invite this half-crazed bitch to slither her scaly reptile tongue into the groove of my big fat hairy gay Islamic terrorist ass.

I find the easiest way to deal with homophobes is to imagine having creepy weird sex with them. These deluded fools and imbeciles have provided me with sexually potent jerk-off fantasies for years—I still get a boner thinking about the one where I wedge a urinal cake into Anita Bryant’s mouth and use her face as a toilet bowl.

I didn’t say my secret sex fantasies were pretty. The one where Ronald Reagan sucks my cock wearing Nancy’s soiled panties over his head is especially nasty—and yet strangely arousing. As is the one where Pres. George W. Bush licks Jello off my balls while singing Cole Porter’s “Miss Otis Regrets.”

Before reading any further just close your eyes and savor that visual for a moment. Pres. George W. Bush’s gums wrapped around my plums and…“Miss Otis…(Slurp)…regrets she’s unable to lunch today…(Slurp)…madam…(Slurp)…”

Oh, that’s hot!! I’m creaming my jeans just thinking about it.

Most people with sexual fetishes keep them for life, but mine come and go—some of them only last for an hour or so. Over the years I’ve been turned on by nuns, bicycles, nuns on bicycles, patchouli oil, corduroy, ceilings, mannequins, prescription glasses, gloves, dwarves, toasters, crushed eggshells, moon boots, senior citizens, corpses, the smell of leather, other people’s credit cards, Easter Bunnies, “Jem and the Holograms,” Vera Wang napkin rings, luggage, ice sculptures, legwarmers and sniffing Vincent DiNofrio’s underwear.

My favorite sex-with-a-homophobe fantasy involves Mel Gibson and a secret fetish I’ve never owned up to. So here and now I’m coming out of the closet as someone who gets turned on by men who dress up in furry animal costumes. Yes, I’m a Furry Fan. I’m not making this up—go Google it. When I’m dressed in my furry animal costume I identify myself as Virginia the Wolf.

In my sexual fantasy, the doorbell rings and I answer it as Virginia the Wolf to find Mel Gibson dressed in a furry penguin suit.

“I’m looking for some creepy and weird homosexual sex with a furry woodland creature who’s more dangerous than an Islamic terrorist,” he says.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” I say. “Come in.”

Mel Gibson waddles in and I force him to his penguin knees and I say: “Why don’t you give my big fat Islamic terrorist girly wolf cock a beak job, you homophobic whore pig penguin? Then you can peck away at my big fat hairy gay Islamic terrorist wolf ass.”

And then I grab his penguin ears and spin him around and fuck his tight penguin ass. Oh! Oh! …Excuse me while I go change into my furry monkey costume and spank myself.

Email Sukie de la Croix at delacroix@chicagofreepress.com.