Debbie Does Heywood

In the course of reading Debbie Schlussel's venomous, lying tirade against peace activist Marla Ruzicka, I began to respond in a visceral way to how Schlussel just naturally took little factoids, dressed them up as gospel, and forced them in place, to fit her preconceived goal of demonizing someone who literally gave up her life to help other people.

Ruzicka didn't do what she did for religious brownie points, not for political propaganda, not to get noticed on a camera, not to get some cherry book deal down the road. She did what she did to help people who needed help, that simple.

This used to be a very Christian goal, back in the days when Christians were serious about their faith, and not just serious about loading up the tribe into the Yukon to go down to the Pentecostal Megachurch and listen to some headset huckster rant for two hours about faggots getting married.

The reason that we know Debbie's full of shit is that after Ruzicka was killed, quite a few military and government personnel stepped forward and had nothing but praise for what she was doing. No military undertakes counts of civilian dead in an invasion/occupation; they've got their hands full as it is, and it's a no-win statistic.

What Ruzicka did -- regardless of any broader political agenda any of her aligned groups may or may not have -- was to do what the military would not do, but not with the purpose of just throwing numbers to the media to embarrass the troops. It was to identify the people most in need, and thus establish that the government (that is, taxpayer) dollars going to help Iraqi citizens is really going to them, and not to buy Ahmad Chalabi another Armani suit.

But no, Little Debbie spends her allotted column space slamming and lying about someone who was stepping up and making an actual effort to be decent -- something this country used to know something about. Something much more difficult than buying a Chinese-made $1.99 magnetic ribbon at WalMart and slapping it on the ol' Grocery Schooner to tell the world how fucking patriotic you really, really are. Why, we don't even have to ask you -- you're telling us! Now that's patriotism!

But this is part and parcel of conservatard discourse, the effective method of getting the Big Lie out there, early and often -- just make shit up. And if the person's no longer alive to defend themselves against the lies, so much the better.

Well, when in Rome....

So in the course of looking up more of Li'l Debbie's œuvre, I see what she looks like -- fortyish suburban milf. I've encountered my share of this species in the past, back in my young and single days, and one thing they have in common -- they love to suck cock. Oh yeah. Somehow, in my early 20's, I had quite a knack for spotting and hooking up with eligible pussy in its sexual prime.

I submit that if one is to be granted a knack by the gods, that's a pretty good one. (Here's a tip for all you kids out there -- learn to play guitar. You don't even have to be particularly good, though it doesn't hurt.)

While I'm sure Debbie's photo is sufficiently airbrushed to disguise the body by SnackWells, as soon as I saw those lips, I knew they were made specifically to massage every vein in my blood-engorged love sausage. Li'l Heywood, meet Li'l Debbie.

And so I vaguely recall all of a sudden, back in my beer-addled misspent days as a would-be god of rock guitar, that I met a younger Debbie Schlussel after a show one night in her suburb, went home with her, wrote my name across her chest in steamy man-chowder, then slapped her on my pecker for another go-round and filled her full of stanky choad. Yes indeedy.

(I may be exaggerating ever so slightly about the writing my name part. I think I got to "Heyw", before my Krakatoa of monkey butter stopped erupting and that "w" kinda dribbled off.)

But what I remember quite clearly about Debbie, even though we hardly exchanged names in the first place, was the blowjob(s). Like sticking your dick in a bowl of Cool Whip -- which, if you haven't tried, you should. Go ahead, we'll wait.

Anyway, like that; a mouth like paradise on your johnson. And voracious! She took my Jeff Gannon™-sized schlong and made it disappear down that cakehole of hers like it was the last pole she'd ever smoke. Clearly it wasn't the first one -- she was so well practiced, it probably wasn't even the hundredth. If you ever turn pro, baby, I'm ponying up the 20's, y'heard?

One way or the other, if I ever make it back to Dearborn, I'm bringin' some Viagra. The milf monster must be fed at regular intervals.

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Wow, it is fun making shit up and slandering people!