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Let's make some Ann Romney "Fan fiction"

"It's over," Mitt quietly said, as he puts down the phone, confirming with Karl Rove his defeat.

Ann looks up, visibly shaken, her hands trembling as she reaches for the crystal ashtray on the side table. She picks it up and throws it at Mitt, narrowly missing his well-coiffed hair by just a little more than inch.

"YOU PROMISED ME YOU WERE GOING TO WIN! YOU PROMISED ME!!!!" she screamed with such ferocity that Megan McCain, on the next suite over, dropped her donut.

(Dlers, pls continue)

by Anonymousreply 3011/09/2012

Ann ran to the stable, jumpled on Rafalca, and galloped away.

by Anonymousreply 111/07/2012

"Just STop it! STOP! IT!" I need more money, I can NEVER have enough!" yelled ann as she tore off

by Anonymousreply 211/07/2012

Was Karl Rove getting a blowjob from one of his hustler boytoys when he was carrying on about Ohio?

by Anonymousreply 311/07/2012

Ann has left Willard for good this time. She is on her way to Tijuana to perform in the "donkey" show. Donkeys don't usually go for blondes but you get em worked up they will fuck anything.

by Anonymousreply 411/07/2012

I wish the brilliant "Bessie T." from the First Ladies thread would bestow her gifts here.

by Anonymousreply 511/07/2012



by Anonymousreply 611/07/2012

"Forgive me, darling," Ann said, as she sank to her knees and unzipped Mitt's pants. She took his throbbing, gigantic five-inch cock from his pants, and slowly began to sing into it as if it were a microphone.

"God Bless America ... Land that I love ..."

by Anonymousreply 711/07/2012

"I'm depressed," Karl says as his rent boy, Hector, a young Mexican-American he got from arrived.

"Is there thing I do to stop thee pain, sir?" he answered with moist eyes.

"Yes," Karl replied, as he unzipped Hector's jeans. "Fuck me, fuck me bad, and I want it raw."

by Anonymousreply 811/07/2012


Meanwhile, back in punditry-land, Karl Rove blinked and continued to insist to the Fox newsanchors that Ohio couldn't have gone blue... it was impossible... he signed, and perspiration appeared in the faint, pale hairs on his upper lip, as he rent boy du jour swallowed Little Rovey whole under the table.

No, Karl knew that the eyes of the nation were upon him. His people, his minions, waiting for a response. He couldn't understand it - hadn't it been perfectly clear? "Ohio," he said again, and cleared his own throat to mask the sound of the deep-throating below.

OHIO. Like then title of a bad romance novel starring Whip Holt, lantern-jawed cowboy and someone Karl frequently fashioned himself after on his after-Black Mass Sunday masturbatory sessions, But Ohio wasn't just a romance novel bought in supermarkets; Ohio was his baby, even more so than Florida - Ohio, where Karl had first tested the intra-computer vote-slipping system that had won first Bush and then Romney victories, and the state where everything was "set" to push it all forward yet again. OHIO.

"OH...." groaned Karl again, and shifted in his seat, his flesh feeling damp over his pink nipples. "

"Hi!" said the rent boy, momentarily pausing and getting up when the camera went back to the Fox studio, where for some reason the blonde woman had disappeared from the soundstage and was stomping down a hallway."

"OH, get down!" snarled Karl, and shoved the barely legal boy's head down again.

"Turd Blossom - " Mitt, on speakerphone, had taken to using the hated nickname too, an affectation that Karl found particularly annoying " - Turd Blossom, what's going on? What do you mean we're going down? We're not very pleased here, TB. Ann has taken off on Rafalca and she is NOT VERY PLEASED."

But Karl had stopped several seconds before emission and was staring at his encrypted cellphone directly linked to the Diebold machines owned by the most irritating of the Romney sons. He couldn't fucking believe it.

The worst text message of his entire life! It read as follows... (to be continued)


by Anonymousreply 911/07/2012

Megan McCain immediately picked up the donut and ate it, citing the three second rule to anyone within earshot.

by Anonymousreply 1011/07/2012

"I just don't understand", said Mitt. "I've never had any trouble in buying houses before".

by Anonymousreply 1111/07/2012

"What do you mean, 'your money's not good here?'" Mitt said in confusion. "My money's good everywhere."

by Anonymousreply 1211/07/2012

...or so Mitt thought as he paid off the male hooker who he hired to give him a blow job in order to fill the void let by Ann working the Donkey show in Tijuana.

Mitt thought Grindr was free until he was asked to pay and so now Bain Capital will outsource all Grindr jobs and severs to an Islamic country which is fundamentalist in scope and they will all answer to Trag. Or is it Trigger? Whatever the hell his angry son's name is.

by Anonymousreply 1311/07/2012

"Promise me, Rafalca. Promise me you'll be gentle this time," sobbed a beaten and demoralized Ann Romney.

by Anonymousreply 1411/07/2012

"Mitt, the sister-wives have convened and we ask you as the holder of the priesthood to ask Heavenly Father if it is fair that one of our sister-wives has to live in the stable."

by Anonymousreply 1511/07/2012

"You need to be taught a lesson once and for all, Ann," Rafalca said mischieveously. "Now bend over and take it like a woman."

by Anonymousreply 1611/07/2012

Claude's enormous erection begged to leave the tight restriction of his trousers while a sobbing Ann sank down to her frail knees. 'Why does everybody hate me?' the lady of the house cries 'why do these people who do not even know me judge?' Ann wraps her arms around Claude's muscular legs 'Am I not a good person?' She raises her head and looks in the angelic features of her stable boy's face. Claude struggling with his feelings for this vulnerable fallen angel right in front of him and the fear of getting caned by her jealous husband again mumbles softly 'People fear what they do not know'. A wailing cry leaves Ann's shivering mouth and she buries her grief stricken face right inbetween Claude's nearly closed legs. So terrible close to his throbbing penis. So terribly close.

by Anonymousreply 1711/07/2012

Insert disgusting reference to Rafalca here.

by Anonymousreply 1811/07/2012

"What seems to be the problem, exactly?" Mitt asked again for a THIRD time, bewildered and straightening his tie. "Tagg told me everything was taken care of."

Meanwhile, the male hooker (recommended by TB himself) had drawn away from Mitt (engrossed in his phpne conversation), leaving a long trail of saliva on les pantaloons magiques. This particular hooker was a smart trick, and he knew arging about money now, NOW, while the powerful politician was on the phone to some evil presence, was a bad idea. Whores who overheard state secrets tended to end up dead, like Marilyn Monroe. Or at least the last person who had strongly suggesting that the electronic voting machines had ended up dead in a plan crash. He accepted the generous $10 bill Mitt was pressing on him with a kind Mormon white-toothed smile, and he left as quickly as he could.

As he exited, he realized his good timing, for the politician's wife, her face like thunder, was stomping up the hall. She blanked him, but he knew she did that to all the staff anyway. It was just when she trod on his toe that it hurt.

There was the stench of horse dung and Tequila on her, and a crazy look in her eye. Her features had been face-painted in the style of a Day of the Dead sugar bride. The male prostitute suspected she'd been wearing the greasepaint masque for over a week.

"WILLard!" he heard her announce imperiously to his erstwhile john. "I HAVE RETURNED."

The odor of horse excrement grew even stronger and there was a vile addition of human piss.

"WILL-ard! I have just spoken with Karl. He received a most disturbing text message from --"

But the whore didn't wish to hear another word, as this was again heading towards state-secret territory.

The whore skeedaddled.

Ann and Mitt stood staring at each other levelly. Mitt's gargantuan, humungous 5-inch penis was for some reason poking out of the special nether-garment, but Ann forced herself to keep looking upwards.

Mitt's voice became menacing and growling for the first time. "From WHOM did Karl receive a text message, Ann?"

A single tear splashed down Ann's soiled sugar-skull facepaint and she tightened her grip on the riding whip.

by Anonymousreply 1911/07/2012

Meanwhile, in another part of town, Ann Coulter finished her lunch of fried baby legs and kitten chips, and sat down to write her latest blog post.

by Anonymousreply 2011/07/2012


by Anonymousreply 2111/08/2012

STop it! THis is Hard!" screamed Ann Romney as she was penetrated for the fourth time that day

by Anonymousreply 2211/08/2012 the stableboy who waits hand and foot upon Rafalca. Pound her he did. Ripped her Magic Mormon Underwear as well. But that did not stop Ann from thinking about Rafalca in terms of "Equus."

by Anonymousreply 2311/08/2012

... "Equus" made her think of that Harry Potter Boy who'd starred in it, the one with the glasses, and although Ann knew she should be thinking of the snappy pounding she was taking from the stableboy, the vision of Harry Potter made her think of England (as she often did when sexing with her husband, despite his mammoth, baseball-bat sized 5-inch member), and England made made her think of that disastrous trip last summer...

That trip where Mitt had commented on the trees...

That trip where Mitt had commented on the Olympic organizational facilities and compared them to Salt Lake City's...

That trip where Mitt had commented on the British secret service...

Ann sighed, and the stable-boy plunged deeper. Ann thought more about the British secret service and James Bond in particular, a secret and particular fantasy. Indeed, back in 1981, she had felt her first sexual awakening while slow-dancing with Mitt to Sheena Easton singing the Bond theme tune "For Your Eyes Only". If only now she could recapture that same sense of hope and damp panties, panties embroidered with the word "Saturday"...

She blinked, and jerked her hips in horror, which served to confuse the stable boy. "For Your Eyes Only." For her husband-master was watching them both from the corner of the stable space, wearing only an Egyptian cotton bathrobe. How long had he been standing there, knowing that she was no longer "For His Eyes Only"...? Those same eyes of his narrowed and a sneer was forming on his lips. Ann tightened her grip on her riding whip.

by Anonymousreply 2411/08/2012

Can someone do a Paul Ryan x rated one?

by Anonymousreply 2511/08/2012

R25, you're into eldergays with dingleberries, aren't you?

by Anonymousreply 2611/08/2012

"Slave, you've disappointed me very badly."

"Yes, Mistress."

"You know you'll have to be punished, don't you Slave?"

"Yes, Mistress, I've been very bad. Mistress deserves to have the Lincoln Bedroom for her dungeon."

"Oh, Slave, his is going to HURT!"


by Anonymousreply 2711/08/2012

"Punch me, Tagg! Punch me hard!" Mitt panted as he lay hog-tied in bed. "Punch me like you wanted to do to Obama!"

by Anonymousreply 2811/08/2012


Ann Coulter gnawed thoughtfully on the last tender, juicy baby leg, (fried to perfection by Consuelo), set it down on the plate, then wiped her mouth daintily with the black napkin that was draped neatly across her black dress.

She sighed, pushing aside the kitten chips reluctantly, saying out loud to herself, "I've got to watch my figure." Then she typed the title of her blog post, "The Ruthless Tyranny of Barack Obama."

Considering again, she thought, "Who knows how much longer before we patriotic, freedom-loving Americans will be rounded up and taken to a concentration camp? I might as well enjoy what little time I have left." Nodding to herself, she pulled the plate of kitten chips towards herself again. Chewing delicately, she vowed to go buy more ammo today, before the gun stores all ran out. Right after lunch, she thought. Better not wait. Thank the Almighty I already bought that bulletproof vest on sale, they will be impossible to get now.

And remember to save a bullet for myself.

by Anonymousreply 2911/09/2012

Meanwhile, back in the Presidential Suite in Boston, Mitt had ordered up bottles of non-alcoholic champagne to celebrate his presumed victory. Or so he thought. The evil prankster room service work, Manuel, harbored great disdain for Romney and immigration policies, and decided to take matters into his own hands by replacing the labels on 20 bottles of champagne with labels from non-alcohol bottles - so the Romney clan would be imbibing anti-Mormon alcohol.

As the election results rolled in, defeat was eminent even after rent boy loving Rove's Fox protestations otherwise, suite mates started to drink the spike bubbly, as Mitt and family don't believe in wasting anything.

The alcohol kicked in, Ann started feeling her loins burning for Mitt's man-cock, but since he was busy hastily writing his concession speech and wiping tears from his eyes, Ann wandered the halls in search of more ice for the crystal ice buckets. There, near the ice machine on the secure top floor, her eyes locked with a 6'4" black security guard who represented everything her pathetic, wimpy, non-presidential husband wasn't. He was big, tall, broad shouldered, and even in s suit, his bulge was noticeable. Ann's mind wondered, she was foggy from the alcohol, and she had never seen a black cock before. Her heart raced, her mind wondered, is he uncut, does he have curly pubes, and she noticed his huge hands, how big they were in comparison to Mitt's.

As she approached the ice machine, he offered to full the bucket for her, she tried to politely decline, and they hands brushed closely. For the first time in her frigid 40-something years, she felt lust overtake her. Their eyes met in a long gaze, in the deserted ice and vending room on the top floor of the Westin, and she knew, she had to have him inside her.

As her glaze shifted from his eyes to his crotch, the black man knew what was next, as he had seduced many black curious rich housewives employing his services many times in the past. He gave a knowing nod, whispered, its OK, you can touch it. But Ann, she wanted to more than touch it. She wanted it deep in her gullet, and thrusting inside her post menopausal barren woomb, deeper than anything she had ever taken before.

Ann knowingly knelt infront of the large black man, his thick black anaconda now unleashed from his trousers, and encountered not only her first black cock, but her first uncut dick. She was puzzled, unsure what to do with the milky foreskin and cheese that had built up over a long day. She inhaled the musk and started sucking, slowly working the spit covered foreskin back revealing a bright pink head on the tip of the massive member.

She could only manage to get a few inches in her mouth, the girth was just too much to handle. She whispered a demanding "I need you inside me, now!" "But, Ma'am, I'm working" he feigned objection, which she retored "yes, for me, and I demand you pump me full of you man juice... that's an order."

He lifted her up onto the ledge of the ice machine, raised her several thousand dollar designer dress, pushed aside her dripping moist panties and began the journey of shoving his 9 inches of black steel into her decrepit, full bushed, woman hole. She was dizzy from the booze, and over taken with primal lust, and felt like a whore for fucking the help, the black help no less.

He eventually managed to get it all in her gash, his heaving balls were swaying as he thrust into her, ravishing her. He tweaked her oh so tight bung hole with his long fingers as he held her in place on the ice machine. In his mind, violating her anally would be his crowing achievement, but it wasn't to be, even in her inebriated state, third input was off the table, that was Mitt's and Mitt's alone. Her whispers of "deeper, deeper, cum in me, fill me with your seed" were familiar to this black stud, he'd heard the same many times. But he knew he would need finish soon to get back to work, but her sloppy cunt, loose from dropping so many kids, was not going to do the job for him. He told her to suck him off...

by Anonymousreply 3011/09/2012
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