Let's be items, in the open or hidden, that are in Miss Lindsey's bedroom.

I am the silver cigarette lighter on the carpet dropped by the last gentleman caller when taking off his pants.

I'm the enormous dildo that Miss Lindsey keeps under her pillow.

I am vintage gay porn magazines. Heavy on arabs, blacks and white trash. We are in a doctor's leather satchel in one of the closets. The satchel has a combination lock built into it, and the combination is 1991, when Lindsay was in the Iraq war and had the most amazing lover of his career, Dilshad, which means cheerful, and who was Lindsay's local assistant de terrain.

Ah am the vintage bottle of Quelques Fleurs Parfum de Toilette, bequeathed to her by her maiden Great-Aunt Percival (known for her uncanny resemblance to Miss Clifton Webb).

I’m the lavender-scented sleep mask. I’m black satin.

I'm a tube of Tushy Tamer anal desensitizing cream, for Treyvon's visits. I'm in a cocktail shaker in the wet bar so that I can be applied multiple times, incognito, in flagrante

I am the floral silk kimono.

The very last of her father's fine Madeira. He got it from his uncle, Admiral Will Graham of Savannah who married his cousin, Jessica Carroll of Carrollton who was his second cousin once removed and a kin to the Wilkeses, too. She saved it to wish Senator McCain a Merry Christmas. But you mustn't drink it all at once because it is the last.

I'm the Precious Moments Collection-- with a little Jesus thrown in.

Only the finest crystal.

I am the alabaster basin of rosewater he keeps ready for his morning toilette.

I am Miss Lindsey's nightwear. I am proper for an elegant lady that grew up in the 60s.

I am the thick photo album of John and Lindsay's junket trips around the world. I am full of wonderful memories and kept in the top dresser drawer.

I’m Thelma Ritter, walking in at 2PM on a Tuesday to open the blackout drapes, shake the senatrice awake, and deliver his daily Bloody Mary.

Liebestraum has been playing on repeat for the last eleven hours. He asked Alexa to play it after his call to DJT went ignored, then promptly passed out from drink.

I am the chocolate mint that Guadalupe leaves on the pillow each morning when she makes the bed, per the Senatrice's instructions.

I’m the hope chest.

And I'm the trousseau.

I'm the satin robe with the maribou feathers....only worn for those special gentlemen callers.

I'm the pot of rouge on my vanity table....after a certain age, a girl needs all the help she can get.

I'm the naked pics of Jared Kushner sent so Miss Lindsey would go on CNN's State of the Union to swear that Javanka WERE invited to McCain's funeral, and not lowlifes crashing it. I'm covered in stains and a little crumpled from hiding under his mattress, but you can still make out Jared's firm buttocks.

We're the Baccarat crystal bottles of Guerlain lotion vegetal, for scenting and dressing the senatorial tresses. We come in Shalimar, Après L'Ondée, Jicky, Vol de Nuit, and Mitsouko, to match her myriad delicious moods and her infinite varah-eteh.

I’m the bridal gown. Our bachelorette remains hopeful.

Hi, I am special friend, Towering Tyrone.

R12 is a lizard-faced liar and pure-dee trash. La Sénatrice's [italic]ensembles de boudoir[/italic] are the very essence of well-bred modesteh!

I am the Lladro collection, housed in a separate etagère from from the Precious Moments.

I am the withered wrist corsage, saved from the night of Miss Lindsey's debut.

I am a 10 carat cushion cut flawless pink diamond presented to Lindsey by a middle eastern monarch after favors were done. Lindsey, being a gentleman, expected "no quid pro quo" and was delighted by the gift and had to accept it, as well as the messenger, Simba. I am the free setting that Lindsey can obtain by asking, in person, for Monsieur Iskander at Jahan Genève, and repeating the phrase Je suis le faucon gris.

I am kept in late 18th century Staffordshire enamel patch box which I claim is a family heirloom but which was given to me by Fleur Cowles, suffering from dementia.

You bitches are cracking me up.

You bitches are horrible! : ) : )

I haven’t laughed so hard for a long time!

I'm the corset that Mammy cinches me into every morning.

I'm the vanity table with a makeup mirror framed in light bulbs.

I'm the Tallulah Bankhead wig.

I'm the ball gag in the night stand Miss L wears when Donald comes over to give it to her like the dirty little whore she is.

I am the antique modesty screen behind which Miz Lindsey demurely changes into her frock, when preparing to greet her gentlemen callers.

I'm the sticks used to dress Miss Lindsey-- by only the most intimate of lady friends and relations, of course.

I am the bouquet of Teleflora Southern Belle flowers sent by an anonymous admirer when Miss Lindsey was in mournin' for Senator McCain.

I'm the loaded, antique Confederate revolver, sometimes handled recklessly.

The help are forbidden from entering Miss Lindsay's bath for obvious reasons

I'm Papa's Recipe!

I’m the housecoat

I'm the antique red velvet fainting couch, for when Miss Lindsey gets a case of her vapors.

I’m that toenail clipping that The Hero shot across the room and the Senatrice just could not find — fiddle dee dee!

I am the handkerchief, lightly scented with lilac perfume, that he keeps nearby for when he thinks of his beloved John and the tears begin to flow.

I'm the clothing mannequin that helps keeps his garments in shape.

I am the autographed Greg Gorman photo of Paula Deen.

I'm DJT's autographed photo (laid on top of John McCain's photo) in an ornate gold scrolled frame by the bedside. Tomorrow is another day after all..

I am the flattering pink light bulbs in all the lighting fixtures and lamps.

I'm Miss Linzy's pharmacy drug insert regarding side effects of a Rocephin injection.

I’m saving this for when I need a good rip-roaring belly laugh.

*blows kisses to all of you*

I'm Miss Lindsey's big ol' southern snatch.

I’m SHAME

I am the pair of men's Versace Barocco Animalier briefs that Lejos found behind the fainting couch while cleaning. Lejos knew I did not belong to the hostess, Miss Lindsey. The Guatamalan nitwit decided to harshly wash me using Gain and wear me himself.

My original owner was a very rich oligarch, indebted to the leader of the motherland. I heard him mumble about doing the deed and taking some pictures while doing so. The problem is that he was so drunk on vodka he forgot me when he dressed to leave. If it wasn't for that pretentious bitch.....

I’m the family size jar of anal bleaching cream.

I’m the vinyl copy of “I feel Pretty” that Miss Lindsay lip syncs to, while dancing and twirling in her finest chiffon hoop skirt in anticipation of her latest gentleman caller.

I'm the "explosive butt" sex toy. I'm also nicknamed Aaron Schock. My product description seduced the Senatrice: "With ripples, nubs and ribs ready to pleasure your peen, his exclusive Explosive sleeve offers a mind-blowingly realistic anal experience."

I am so tired of pleasing his little nibble of a peen.

I'm the jar of lavender cold cream on the vanity, awaiting the genteel fingertips that will gingerly dip into my creamy depths, morning and night, removing the day's (and night's) filth from sordid deeds done on Capitol Hill.

We're the delicate lingerie made for Lindsey specially in the Convent of Saint Claire.

I’m the murder basement where Miss Lindz permanently silences her rent boys.

Kept on the upper shelf of the bedroom closet, I am the thank-you gift to Miss L from the Judge.

I'm the perfumed valedictory note Miss Lindsey wrote to John McCain during his last illness, and never sent. In me, she confesses her undying love for McCain and looks forward to union with him in eternity. I'm stained with tears and kept under the blotter of Miss Lindsey's cherry secretary.

I'm the scraps of squirrel gravy and biscuit on a plate on the floor. I occasionally have that dish for nostalgic reasons. It's probably the most honest thing I do.

I am the freckles on her white droopy ass

Oh..THAT Miss Lindsey..never mind

I am the costly and fragrant Claus Porto soaps with which La Sénatrice washes out her own mouth at home after saying "hell," "damn," and the "S-word" on national TV. She detests dirty words in her heart of hearts, but she knows she must use them to show her fiery resolve to the presidents she serves both at home and abroad.

R60 I’m the 55 gallon drums in the basement which contain the rent boys. The color of the drums are garish and don’t accentuate the decor but suit their purpose nevertheless.

Serious question. Now that John is gone, who has Miss Lindsey given her heart to?

I'm the Baptist hymnal.

I'm the greasy Aubusson carpet, another "family heirloom" (a lie). I'm greasy because I'm coated in a viscous layer of silicon lube mixed with Floris talc.

Her meemaw swore by this. As a tradition, Miss L keeps a bottle for dabs behind the ear on those very special occasions.

I am the Florida Water sprinkled liberally throughout the bedchamber to ward off the avaricious and freeloading demons of socialist healthcare.

Yep r71. Since 1868 I have brought luck at gambling, and am known for my seductive powers for those charming ladies and those adventurous men.

I am the journal booklet Miss Lindz purchased to jot down her most private fantasies. These are not her initials but an object of her most frequent lust. I am kept neatly in night stand drawer for convenience as she completes her nightly dreams.

You people are bad.

And hilarious.

I am the clusterfuck of bibelots, sterling picture framed pictures, and petits objets d'art that Jonquishevetta curses as she dusts evert fucking flat surface that they encrust. Tastefully.

I’m the crushed viagra in the snuff box behind the Hummel figurines. To be sprinkled delicately but liberally in my gentleman caller’s bourbon. Make America Hard Again!

I’m the battered, partially clad Cindy McCain Voodoo Doll with pins stuck deep into her eyes!

She knew full well that it was I who should have followed John’s casket in my mother’s black mourning veil! Which had been worn by generations of Graham women since the Confederacy!

I am the vase of silk flowers on the marble top stand by the dresser. I happen to match the linens, drapes, and the rest of the bedroom decor.

I am the 50" Samsung Class 4K TV bought several months ago through Amazon. I am mostly showing Fox News. However, Miss L does turn me often to the home shopping networks. She sure does enjoy viewing jewelry and other fashion accessories. Sometimes she calls while watching and places an order.

I’m The DJT, smirking as I write yet another submission to this thread. Be Best!

I am the portrait of Miss Jacqueline, the Senatrice's love, lost all those many years ago in the Great Magnolia Cotillion Fire. My picture sits on the mantle, in the drawing room. No one recalls ever meeting me.

I'm her silk hand fan. I'm vigorously used when her gentleman caller insinuates his intentions to ravish her for the whole entire night.

I'm the open door and a crumpled 20 when gentleman caller is smaller than advertised.

Goodness, this thread is replete with various toilet waters and scents. La Senatrice must surely know that a lady never overdoes it, like that Watling woman, or, indeed, the Widow McCain!

R82 Any upstanding southern gentleman would positively be befelled by the delicate, yet handsome, features of Miss Jacqueline Graham.

And those large bouncy curls are both fun & fetching when a Senatrice is perfectly seated in the front viewing window.

I'm the satin tasseled, fleur-de-lis book ribbon, edged with the finest of imported lace from Brittany, tucked into the signed copy of "Memoirs of Geisha".

R80, may I add that I am just the bedroom TV. On the den TV close to the kitchen, Miss L watches the Golden Girls marathons, mostly on weekends. She spreads out on her "other" fainting couch with a drinky poo in hand and enjoys the entertainment. On commercial breaks, she refreshes the drink or pours another from the two pitchers Deshaun made before leaving for the day. Miss L knows everything about all Golden Girls episodes. She often sashays to her desktop to anonymously chat about it on some website I don't recall.

I’m the blushing letters of deep admiration & teasing possibilities sent to me by Mr Brett! Here I go positively dizzy again saying his name! The letters are bundled in fine pink ribbon and scented with gardenia! He swears I scared those northern Yankees worse than when Miss Scarlett threatened Prissy with the whip!

haha, I'm the kompromat instructions kept in the bedroom closet safe. I am what she got from those notable golf outings she had with Putty's Clown Prince.

Boy, her expectations were shattered. She dreamed the golfing excursions would actually be more like this:

I'm the bedroom TV remote. Damn those so-called gentleman callers with icky, sticky fingers that decide to stay the night

I'm the purple drapes. I always wanted purple drapes!

I’m the empty bottle of Larkspur Lotion.

I am the many empty bottles of Lydia Pinkham's Female Compound.

Damn, Miss Lindz uses an awful lot of perfumes & colognes, toilet water fragrances. Sprays & mists, skin creams, lubricants, etc. She could open a cosmetics boutique. Heck, I may buy some of the products during the holidays.

Every day has it's derby day component with the Missess. I'm the coaster in the bedroom.

I'm Miz Lindz's old Le Shake Weight collecting dust on the bedroom closet shelf. I still work marvelously, but the ole ho bought be a new one from a sex novelty site that actually squirts.

I'm this photograph framed in a tasteful silver Tiffany & Co. Flora & Fauna frame that sits on the Seantrice's bedside table so she can go to sleep and awaken to it.

I’m the fry daddy and shake n bake mix she uses when she eats deep fried babies for breakfast.

R89 I told Mr. Brett you won’t have to cover MY mouth and turn up the music! But he said “but, that’s how I like it”!!

So I said “then that is how you will have me!”

R22, that white gown is not a dress. I know because I'm the white Hood that goes with it

R101 Every man gets service at Lindsey's door! He's got heat in his pants for all sorts and no hate in his dear heart for anyone, he swears he's just in it for the incognito male bonding exercises.

LOL @ r100

[quote]I am the vase of silk flowers on the marble top stand by the dresser.

Pronounced "vahz," just to clarify.

I am the spirit of Julia Gardiner Tyler, who sometimes takes possession of our fair Sénatrice and causes her to flit about cooing. "Ah am the Lovely Lady Presidentress!"

I’m the marabou trimmed satin bathrobe, worn after an evening with a gentleman caller.

I’m also the silk scarf draped over the lamp to soften the light.

I'm the gallon jug of Simpering Magnolia douche with the pump dispenser. There are twelve more like me stored in the basement. Miss Lindsey is hoping Amazon creates a subscription option for purchasing me.

I am old attire stuffed in a trunk in the attic above the bedroom. As you may see, there are such fond memories Lindsey has per her travels with John around the world while venturing out at night incognito.

If you peek down the hall from the bedroom door, you can see that Missy is planning tea in the solarium today!

I’m the racism that inhabits all white southern men, whether you admit it or not.

Buzz off race troll at r110.

I’m the Bible that white southern men profess to live by. I’m holding up the fainting couch ever since one of the legs snapped after a particularly rugged gentlemen caller visited.

I'm the Tucs Medicated Cooling pads discreetly stored in the armoire. I'm Miss Lindsey's best friend after an evening of gentlemen callers.

I’m the Seantrice’s penis, hidden because she actually pushes it inward to resemble a second navel.

^I've done that too.

I'll tell y'all... this here thread had me a rollin' in the aisles! I was even tempted to send it to Miss Lindsey herself because how could she not find the humor in it. But, I didn't...

THIS is one of the better DL threads!

I am Miss Lindsey's diary. I am pink with a gold embossed cover. All the Senatrice's hopes, dreams, and torrid nights with gentlemen callers are carefully documented within me. I have many tear-stained pages where Miss L poured her heart out describing her great, unrequited love for the dearly departed John McCain. Tthere are also many pages stained with other bodily fluids. The DNA of every trick from Virginia to Maryland could be swabbed from this poor volume!

I'm the antique horse hair brush Miss Lindsey uses to brush her silken locks 100 times before bed.

I'm the Designing Women bookmarked page on Lady Lindsey's Dell desktop running Windows XP. She fires me up to play for young visitors to show she's hip and fun. Also, it was a clip she and Mother blinded over.

I'm her mourning veil, for when she sits and sobs during her periodic visits to John McCain's gravesite.

I am a pair of tiny shoes given to Miss Lindsey on a fact-finding mission to China. Mammy 'bout exploded at thought of having to cram her into them, but Miss Lindsey slipped them onto her delicate feet like it weren't nothing!

I'm Miss Lindsey's computer's screen-saver that always honors the strength, perseverance, and fortitude of Old Glory and the South. And, as God is our witness we shall rise again!

I am Miss Lindsey's Boat and Tote. I am filled will special things for outings at Lake Keowee with a gentleman caller.

I am Miss Lindsey monogrammed hanky, delicately used to muffle any excess noise when engaged with a particularly vigorous gentlemen caller. "Southern moms taught their girls the same lesson but with the advice that they didn't have to be loud or abrasive to be heard" from 'Redefining the Southern belle'. Why just the other day, my Mistress told Miss Melania: "No need for the entire West Wing to hear you. Take it from me; a little squeaky whimper is much more effective!" Then she quickly amended: "Why, I heard it from Mira"

I'm the vast, aching emptiness of Miss Lindsey's soul...

To get to Miss L's bedroom, any gentleman caller has to slam my balls first.

I wonder if Miss Linz will ever come out of her closet.

I'm not an item. I am the skid marks on the sheets.

where is the little brown bottle ?

As he left upon a gentlemanly call this early holiday season, he placed me in the corner of Miss L's vanity mirror. As she does her hair and make-up, she stares longingly at me and smiles. I'm safe from removal.

Somewhere in the house, there's got to be something of Brett Kavanaugh's. I'm assuming the Senator has professional house cleaners in there, I can't imagine he cleans and does his own laundry, etc. So, that would limit the amount of things out on display.

....but, but, but, Lindsey tells us he's straight!

I am Kavanaugh's soiled underwear. Bret left me at the plantation after he gave Miz Lindsay her promised and long-awaited pity-fuck.

Miz Lindz's gentleman callers may not smoke in the bedroom or elsewhere inside. They may step out to the veranda to smoke as she hands them this fine ordered ashtray to keep things tidy.

I am the birdbath on patio outside the bedroom window.

I'm the stack of National Geographic magazines the Senatice leafs through to celebrate the heritage of her most favorite gentlemen callers.

"Mmm, that's the right way to do immigration..." sighs Lindsey as she drifts off into dreamland....

I'm the unusual amount of pillows on the back of the bed.

Lindsey has to sleep upright after she rolls her hair in toilet paper and a hair net so she is camera ready for tomorrow.

I’m the $1 rings Miss Lindsey would buy by the dozen on eBay. She would pretend to lose me now and then . With a piercing cry, she would get on her hands and knees to find me. Wearing her lucky lace undies.

It's Black Friday Sale and Miz Lindz has already ordered a case of me for a bargain price. Gentleman Tucker has good eye in recommending tasteful bathroom accessories.

Too many menz were showing at the door without appointments. Miss Lindzey, the wise lady she be, added me, a peephole to the front door. Gentleman callers MUST have an appointment. No more interrupting, show-ups, and Miss Lindsey needs sufficient notice to prepare. However, she does occasionally make some exceptions if........

I'm the shelf of Hummel figurines put out the day after Thanksgiving. "Well, I'll be, they are all boys. Why, I'd never noticed!"

Traveling or at home, the Sénatrice displays bedding frills that are delightfully inviting to gentleman callers in a romantic mood.

I’m the floral framed portrait of fellow SC Senartrice Tim Scott, which he asked me to keep deep, DEEP in the closet!

They call me the senior senator or Top, but that’s only a technicality!

Sometimes, if things really heat up, we’ll play Miss Scarlett vs. Prissy!

I am her great-great-grandpappy's horsewhip, kept in the bottom of her boudoir closet for her Negro gentleman callers to wield when she's been extra-naughty!

I am a naked light bulb. You will NEVER find me anywhere NEAR Miss Lindsey!

For the record;

"Lindsey Graham: 'To the extent that it matters, I'm not gay'"

Carry on....

I am this copy of The Brothers Karamozov, tossed carelessly under the bed, unread and unloved. My cover is VERY misleading to say the least.

Let’s just say the Senior Senator Lynn has taken the Junior Senator Tim under his wing! He’s mentoring him! He’s showing him the ropes! He’s showing him around and letting him know how things really work!

I am Miss Lindsey's favorite painting...no ideal existence actually. To swing carefree and have the randy man and wind up my dress as my lovers.

R147 LG has felt the need to say that multiple times, including the early days of his South Carolina political endeavors way back yonder years. You don't suppose.....

I am six year old clipping placed in the Missess folder labeled "How To". Among the dozens of others, I am one of the most read periodically. Apparently, I have value.

I am Travis the pool boy.

I'm the USC graduation gown. Some nights I'm paired with a doily for judgement, some nights I'm paired with john lobbs for evangelism, and some nights I'm paired with a wig for some Sister Act choir action.

Retire LG.

I'm the neatly arranged stack of gaily-wrapped copies of "The Men of Lindsey's Boudoir" that the Senatrice gives out to his "special friends" for birthdays and Christmas.

I am one of the towels. Miss L insists 'the help' folds and presents towels on the rack this way.

I'm the small tube of anal bleach discreetly stored in the nightstand. I rub a dab on after evening prayers. My puckerhole could pass for that of a college volleyball star!

Well, I'm her smelling salts. She saw the new gardener below and swooned from overwhelming excitement and anticipation, or sheer witless fear. I've never heard her scream for Gloria so loudly and urgently.

And, I'm Gloria.

I am a pair of yellow rubber gloves hidden in the Snatrice's nightstand. You don't want to know what I'm for.

I'm the cans of Crisco hidden deep in the closet. They are for Miss Lindsey's Mud pies or so she tells Gloria.

So much for her being refined antebellum lady.

I am the Misses' diary.

Since August, Kav......(or Brettsie) has been mentioned 2,734 times. Umh...

I'm the younger sister, Carline. Miss Carline to the rest of y'all, thank ya...

Yes, I'm married but I remain in my mourning weeds in remembrance of our dearly departed parents that led Lindsey to taking care of and adopting me for insurance purposes.

I was supposed to be the FLOTUS and then I wouldn't have wear this shi... garb. He was supposed to win. He didn't work hard enough I guess and it didn't work out. I guess that really upset him. He just spends all of his time in that hermetic bedroom of his. I guess he cries his eyes out. All I ever hear coming from behind that door is; "OH! OH! OH!!!!"

Well... He's in the hands of our Master...

I be the train in her dreams.....

Locomotive Kav with buds PJ, Moose, Squee, Moose, & Long Dong

Miz Lindz has been naughty. But Santa ain't going to pass up his visits every holiday season.

I'm her bedroom set, which was inspired by Downton Abbey

I'm the special, personal, and exotic teapot whereby 🍑 tea is brewed. I serve to provide soothing relief as the Missess overcomes the vapours.

[quote]I'm her bedroom set, which was inspired by Downton Abbey

Was the Cockgobbler his decorator?

I am the very eloquent bedroom chandelier:

Of course someone must be these fashionable earrings.

She has exquisite tastes.

I am the pink satin turban that deftly keeps the tresses at bay as I prove to be a most elegant fellatrice with my tawny Creole assistant Armand.

I am the two tears in a bucket.

I'm the wall clock.

I am Miss Lindsey's bidet in her master bath. I come in handy when she has that "not so fresh feeling".

I am Lindsey's anal douching equipment. I'm MORE than worse-for-the-wear because she's so full of shit, my work is never done!

She lays her head on me while listening to Dean Martin's hit:. Send Me the Pillow that You Dream on.

I'm the neatly-ironed stack of embroidered cum rags.

I am Rebel Yell, Miss Lindsey's favorite bedtime companion (and almost always her ONLY bedtime companion--sigh) since childhood. I am ratty and worn out but still in use, much like Miss Lindsey herself.

She has whispered many secrets into my ears about obscene things she would like to do to Paul Ryan if given the chance.

I am the delicate antique flask into which I transfer my poppers from the gauche Rush bottle.

It says it all. Well, some.

Hehe. Time of year, for me to be frequently worn on those frisky nights.

This thread is EXACTLY why I love you bitches.

I’m the Scarlett O’Hara figurine dolls, crafted by the prestigious Franklin Mint.

I'm one of her holiday greeting cards. She does have a bit of wit.

A shiny revolver, kept in a hidden compartment in his headboard.

I'm the bejeweled knee pads keeps on the ready for when she ministers to her gentle man callers

I’m the medical illustration to show “gentlemen callers” how to hit Miss Lindsay’s p-spot.

I am Miz Lindz' holiday feelings and inner-self.

I am the lava lamp that pleases.

....said the inebreated gentleman caller.

^inebriated

Widow G's bonnet one may be..,...

Am the Ashley Wilkes music box.

That's one bedroom fillied with amazing novelties and exotic conversation pieces.

One be the theme song....

I'm the hidden camera that Putin used to catch Miss Linsey getting a train run on him by half a dozen underage escorts.

I am a MUST in welcoming gentlemen entering the abode.

I'm the 🦊 tail butt plug.

Quite an intriguing thread.

I am the sinthetics custom made life-like sex doll that Ms. Lindsey keeps around for the lean times, when too few gentleman callers are knocking on the senatice's backdoor. He calls me 'Brad'.

A Burn Book

Dang r202. Brad is one expensive rubber ho @ $1250. But pocket change for the refined lady.

No, it's $2150 ^^^

Am available when that special gentleman cums calling.

Well, I'll be Mitch.....

I’m the extreme fabric puddling.

I am the bottle of Lady Anti-Monkey Butt.

Plays with the train.....

I be the toot toot!

I'm the senatrice's Thigh Master. She uses me when she does her kegels, keeping her toned and ready to recieve her gentlemen callers

I'm the holiday season chocolate lollipops that satisfies Miz L's night time cravings.

Gentleman Caller Santa Claus knocked on Miss Lindz' door last night and stayed awhile. And it wasn't about getting milk and cookies.

Shame on DJT for telling kids there is no Santa.

"Where is my collection of ultra-sensitive, jumbo, black dildos?"

"Jesus Christ, you all know my mussy is getting drier and more fragile every DAMN day!"

"Goddamn it! Now my Feather Heel Marabou Slippers are missing!"

"Y'all know I don't like to cuss - it's not ladylike - but somebody has been in here fiddlin' with my thangs."

Hanging in the bedroom closet, I am the recently purchased cocktail dress for the very private, upcoming New Year Eve's party at Rudy's place. Originally hoped I'd be worn at Mar-a-Lago, but that fell through with the shutdown.

Enlarge and see front and back. Quite tasteful and elegant.

I am the bottle of Valtrex that Ms. Lindsey keeps close at hand. I sometimes hear him say sadly to himself before opening me up, "D'shaun told me he was clean."

I am the Spanx t-shirt that Ms. Lindsey tries to wear on occasion. It's a very tight fit and he never seems comfortable with me on.

I'll be her favorite throw pillow.

A dab of me behind each ear for that most special gentleman...

All these fantastic bedroom items, Misstress Lindzie needs to stay home and enjoy them more. She loves being on TV. TV producers decided she is what all want to see. But potty mouth talk needs to be exposed only to adults. But she be talking for DT, so saying naughty stuff may be needed to emphasize her points.

To be something in her bedroom, I'd be the vintage radio. Yes, she is the type to have an old fashioned radio.

I’m the hundreds of Russian accented messages on the recording machine.

She did some partying last night with a few gentleman callers.

I'm the toenail lacquer.

I'm the Russian rentboy corpses....

I'm the antique chifferobe in the corner. In addition to storing the lovely collection of lace smelling salts cachets, buttons, and bows, the mirror has been ever so slightly altered to give anyone who looks in it an hourglass figure.

I'm the worn-out instructional video Miz Lindz keeps on top of the video player. She loves my ending especially.

Nice artwork for the foyer.

I'm the cloisonne chafing dish in which Miz Lindsey keeps plenty of finely crushed adderall. Her orange god told her it makes sex even better!

Miz Lindz don't need no thigh master. She learned my demonstrations.

I'm the chenille bedspread. Miss Lindsey thinks I make her sordid bed look respectable and proper.

I'm the "I Love You This Much" figurine on her nightstand.

I'm the new tennie bopper wig worn just for gentleman caller "Kav" when he comes knocking.

Been around for all these decades, but she ain't letting me go.

I DO declare!

Am the chocolate mint julep cocktail recipe.

I'm the scrapbook filled with pictures of John McCain

Am the Hard Times that emerge from under the covers when she is thinking about all the tasty menz.

I'm the collector's edition of Miss Lindsey's favorite 'art film': "MANDONGO".

I'm Cleophus the cook, who prepares Miss Lindsey's meals while in my drawers, since the kitchen gets so dang hot. However, you can also find me in his bedroom when I'm feeding him his favorite victual.

I'm the collection of bedroom air fresheners having lovely scents.

Due to the recent volume increase, as each gentleman caller enters the parlor, he must take a number from me and then appropriately wait.

The gentleman caller that owns me must be getting senile. I was left once again on this Senàtrice's nightstand. He'll be back for me.

I'm the used jock strap the closeted Clemson football player left it the Senator's bedroom. The Senator invited my prior owner to discuss and celebrate the national football championship.

The shutdown is very costly, not only financially, but in terms of environmental matters, public safety and health, and other governmental services. Putting federal employees through this unnecessary stress is shameful. Lindsey doesn't need to be calling Trump. DJT is a failed negotiator and pouts, and behaves as being beholden to Putty. Call McConnell, that's who can make a deal and put a bill forth for a floor vote. Heavy Congressional and public pressure needs to be on McConnell.

^Oops, wrong thread. Pardon me

BTW, hilarious thread here.

Lindz dear, no, no, no; a misplaced mic to toss down in front of Mike Wallace when you get exasperated?

My child, try a lovely silk flower lapel with a matching handkerchief. And do wear a shirt with color. Men's fashion can be eye-catching too, sweety.

Have a similar mindset with men's close as when classy female attire is being adorned. That should be a breeze for you.

clothes, not close^

Lindsey can borrow the Cockgobbler's pink gingham shirt

It's Chris.

But Jill remembers Mike better.

Miz L could stand to buy a couple of earthtone suits.

I'm Lindsey's stash of soothing lip balm and cornhusker's hand lotion always at the ready after a strenuous evening of entertaining gentleman callers. He definitely needed us tonight after a visit from the whole Clemson football team! He also used a stash of bags for the ...uh...more UNFORTUNATE looking players.

Some strange things have emerged from that bedroom's closet.

I'm the old Dell laptop that he uses to investigate the posts on WayBig.

For future reference and all that.

Maybe ain't gay. Some just like tickle fights.

I wish I knew how to do the DL poll. I would ask how many BBC has Lindsey sucked on in his life? A. Zero B. between 1 and 10 C. more than 10 D. Lost count in 1972

E. Vivian Vance knows and took it to the grave

Any updates?