A Republican National Committeeman with Spunk Enough To Share

Joette Lookabaugh
Fremont County (ID) Prosecutor

Dear Mrs. Lookabaugh,

Thank you for retaining GOP National Committeeman Blake Hall as your county civil attorney. You could have taken the easy route, like Bonneville County did, and fired him after he was convicted of throwing used condoms onto his ex-girlfriend's lawn on ten different days.

But you didn't. You understood that his conviction and subsequent resignation from the Republican National Committee was punishment enough. But even more importantly, I suspect you saw his used condom deposits as the heroic acts of love they were.

I can imagine how it all came about. He was in a funk after losing the woman he loved. It wasn't his fault. She just began to hate him more and more as she got to know him better. It's the kind of thing that happens to true American men like him and me. It's the patriot's curse.

My guess is he began devising schemes to get her back, eventually landing on the idea that they might grow close again if they shared the responsibility of caring for another being. Maybe he picked up a dog and waited in his car outside her house to give it to her. Perhaps, he was playing his radio and a Charlie Daniels song came on. As a not-man, you might not be familiar with how a Charlie Daniels song like "Stroker's Theme" affects a man. It gives us a hankering, a mighty hankering, to liberate our seed.

Not wanting to murder defenseless Spermatazoan-Americans, he'd have used a condom to temporarily house the little squirters until he could take them home to his cellar full of Mason jars. He'd put it on and then start yanking furiously in time to Daniel's fiddling until he filled its reservoir tip to the bursting point with his teams of huddled gametes yearning to swim free . Once finished, he'd carefully remove it and place it on the seat next to him as he zipped up his pants.

Of course, the dog would immediately eat it. That's the nature of dogs. They hate America, but they love the taste of our tiniest citizens (or so I'm told--don't believe a god damned word Cletus tells you, and, anyway, what a man does with his own damned peanut butter is his own damned business).

Witnessing that kind of wanton murder is bound to make a man think, and I suspect that's what Blake did. I figure he decided to modify his plan and give his ex his seed rather than some cryptocomunistofascist Spermatazoan-American-eating dog. They could raise the little buggers in Mason jars together, as a couple.

It was a good plan, and one that might have worked had he kept at it for longer than ten days. I don't think there's anything more romantic than when a suitor lovingly lobs his seed onto his true love's lawn. She'd have given in eventually. What woman wouldn't?

Heterosexually yours in a chaste, biblical, and non-seed-based-wooing kind of way,

Gen. JC Christian, patriot

A helmet tip to Geov Parrish.

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