Touching Pastor Anderson's Junk

Pastor Steven L. Anderson
Faithful Word Baptist Church

Dear Pastor Anderson,

I'm sorry Mrs. Pastor Anderson's birthday vacation was ruined by the Transportation Security Administration, but do you think you may have over-reacted a bit? Although no man wants the government to look at his johnson or grope his grenades, it's really more about shame and temptation than morality. Why lose a flight because of a couple of avoidable emotions?

Feminslamunistofacists have ruined modern men. They've employed advertising, articles in Cosmopolitan, and shows on those not-man cable channels to make us feel inadequate about the size of our little soldiers. We fear body scanners because we dread the laughter that will surely come when we fail to meet the monstrous 2.5 inch standard foisted on us by these mean, castrating femunists.

But we can beat them at their own game. All it takes is a vienna sausage and a little ingenuity. Just hollow out one end of the weenie, slide your thingy in there, and, suddenly, you have a monster johnson that's a good three times larger than what God gave you.

This trick has given me so much confidence, I wear a vienna sausage everywhere I go, now. And when I'm required to pass through a body scanner, I'm so confident, I do a little wiener dance for the monitors. Yes, they still laugh, but I'm sure it's an involuntary nervous response to seeing a unit so breathtakingly large and manly.

I do worry, however, that the I may cause Our Lord and Savior to feel a little inadequate when I wear my sausage. It seems sinful--although I can't quite name the particular sin--to build a wiener that rivals His little redeemer. But then I suppose that if He can heal leopards and turn water into wine, He's probably already given himself one heck of a humongous johnson. He's likely even set it to auto-grow in case some smart-ass grabs a kielbasa.

Of course, there's always a chance you may experience a sausage failure. Maybe it'll break off and work it's way back to your cave of shame--that's hard to explain to the body scan monitors--or maybe you'll just get hungry on your way to the gate. You'll have to undergo a pat down then. What do you do?

Well, if you think about it, the sin isn't in the patting; it's in the reaction. There's nothing wrong with having a man knead your little soldier as long as you don't enjoy it. I know it's hard to avoid such a reaction, but I've done a lot of research and learned it can be done.

There's this guy I know in Spokane who'll do anything you want if you pay him. I hired him for a few months to rub my secret parts while I thought of distasteful things. I figured that would remove any enjoyment I may feel. It was hard at first. I couldn't get wrestling off my mind, but eventually, I started to think about baseball--that's what they tell you to think about so you can last a whole five seconds. Unfortunately, it worked, but, as advertised, only for about five seconds.

I then tried the old Mormon anti-masturbation visualization--the one in which you picture yourself bathing in worms and occasionally eating a few--but that was worse than baseball. I mean, my God, three seconds.

But then it occurred to me that maybe I was going about it all wrong. I was thinking about manly things and my man parts, being man parts, were responding. It's like when a bunch of guys are talking. Bring up sports and it'll be a lively conversation, but mention make up and everyone shuts up.

So I started thinking about lady things like frilly, lacy lingerie, and, by gosh it worked. No temptation at all.

Give my ideas a try and you'll never miss another flight.

Heterosexually yours,

Gen. JC Christian, patriot