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Wednesday, January 11, 2023

Madam Biden’s Bordello–Political Hookers And Tarts In The White House

Joe Biden is a man of temperance and rectitude even more so than Jimmy Carter who, while remaining celibate throughout his marriage confessed he had lust in his heart.  No one has yet unearthed anything unseemly in the President, nothing seamy that is.  There are plenty of dodgy choices that have trailed him for years, that Hunter thing for example, and a few other political peccadillos from his days in Delaware; but all in all he will be defeated in 2024 not because of scandal or any sexual impropriety but for his errant and mistimed policy decisions.

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Because of the President’s dogged righteousness, the two years of his Administration have been dull and spiritless.  Where is Donald Trump when we need him? Or John Edwards who followed his Argentine firecracker for a tryst in Buenos Aires, or Eliot Spitzer who was serviced by high-class hookers in the honeymoon suite of the Mayflower? Or LBJ tomcatting with the Secret Service; or JFK bedding spies and starlets.  Even the man considered an American saint, Martin Luther King was a Lothario whose fame brought him spiritual acclaim and women galore.  Sex is a perk of the Oval Office, and few men who have sat there have demurred.  Only Jimmy Carter and Richard Nixon who, it was reported, despite the Kissinger adage about power being a potent aphrodisiac, had no sexual drive whatsoever.  All the rest stepped out, prowled, chased women, paid for them, had betwixt-and-between assignations – all while First Ladies, happy enough with teas and gardening and with no thought of rocking the boat, watched and waited.

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Freud was famous for his theories of displacement, transference, and sublimation according to which an individual replaces his innate, natural, irrepressible sexual urges with something more tame and socially acceptable.  A man with doubtful sexual potency, suggested Freud, is often a tiger in the workplace.  Another man, trapped by punitive social mores in a lifeless marriage, but too trained in Puritan sexual morality, finds satisfactory outlet on the repertory stage; and so it is with Joe Biden, ordinarily a man’s man with girly magazines, ogling, and wet dreams as a boy; hot dancing at proms and mixers as an adolescent, and a charmer as a young man; but progressive politics dampened whatever sexual ambitions he might have had as a maturing adult, and, as a replacement, turned to making a difference.

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He made little difference as a representative of the small, relatively insignificant state of Delaware – a new carrier here, port reconstruction there, financial compromises that eased money into Delaware banks –and patiently awaited his turn as Barack Obama’s second.  During that quiet and dedicated political era, Biden had to watch his P’s and Q’s.  Nothing untoward should upset the applecart of the new, black, proud American president.  The Vice President suffered on two counts – he couldn’t satisfy his sexual longings for fear of being outed as a flasher and tart lover; and he could not transfer these passionate feelings into something neutral and acceptable.

Biden was elected President thanks in large part to the virulent hatred of Donald Trump – anyone but Trump in the Oval Office would be a victory – and because of his Johnny-come-lately progressivism.  Joe had always been a good Democrat, but because of his personal and intellectual limitations chose the middle ground, the safe ground, an uncontested LZ.  He was known as a compromiser, willing to barter bridges for bailouts and ships for logging, and so remained unchallenged and happy in his Delaware and Congressional offices.  As president, failing in mental acuity, somewhat dry and drained after so many numbing years as a political duty officer, he fell under the influence of the take-no-prisoner cabals of Washington.  Black, gay, and Latino women who demanded radical change to the American landscape.  Norman Rockwell]s America was gone, shuffled aside, and trashed as male, heterosexual, white elitism.  There were no happy Thanksgiving dinners for the poor, the marginalized, and the oppressed.  No joyful homecomings for soldiers who had raped, pillaged, and destroyed.

The President bought the meme lock, stock, and barrel not because he actually believed in such perverse, anti-American notions, but because he saw the political tide turning far Left, and he wanted to be the captain of the ship sailing these new waters.

The real reason for his epiphanic change, however, was transference, displacement, and sublimation.  ‘Diversity’ and ‘inclusivity’ could be the means of stocking the White House with all gender possibilities, titillating in their sexual outrageousness yet conforming to the new code of human variety.  Not that the stolidly straight President had any overt intentions of changing sides; but that he fancied himself as the Madam of an exotic bordello.  A political cathouse whose girls came from all points on the gender spectrum.  He already had a gay black woman as Press Secretary, but she was too buttoned, too much pearl earrings and cashmere sweaters for what he had in mind – something more out there, edgy, challenging.  When the press corps came to the briefing room – all expectant johns hoping for a reprieve from their hectoring, lawyer wives – they should get something more than propriety so he replaced her with Jeannette Perkins, a transgendered black man who favored long blood red nails, stiletto heels, and black sheath dresses.  Jeannette would not just read from prepared scripts, refer insolent questions to the more appropriate spokespersons, and blandly recite the President’s recent successes, she/he/they would be refreshingly ragged – ironically sexual, defiant, and commanding.

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That was just for openers.  He had to place the right girls in the right rooms, all soft lighting, plush bedding, and intoxicating aromas.  There was nothing he could do about Cabinet appointments, for they had to be approved by a notoriously socially conservative Senate, but no one was overseeing White House appointments, so Biden went right ahead.  In one room there3 was the grandson of sharecroppers who had gotten religion and sexual reassignment at exactly the same time.  He was able to align his radical notions of universal bi-sexuality with  the teachings of Paul who was very explicit about his misgivings about marriage (and one assumed, heterosexuality).  Get married if you have too, Paul advised, but beware of woman.

Bettina Parsons had been the plaything of the Bernal Heights, flannel shirted, jackbooted lesbian crowd of San Francisco.  She as fully and profoundly gay as her sisters, chose to be their frilly, feminine doll.  She was more cute, alluring, and chipper than the real thing, and found great excitement and sexual satisfaction in being ravished by the biggest tough girls of the crowd.  A lawyer by trade and a very successful trial attorney at that (she went to the courtroom in mufti), she was perfect for the White House.  She would push gender stereotypes to the limit, and draw all manner of Marilyn Monroe lapdog men for audiences with her.

Biden was most proud of his ‘chameleon’ as he called her – a woman who expressed the essence of the gender spectrum; i.e. no one need remain in one sexual slot forever.  Change and sexual mobility were of the essence.  If one size didn’t fit, try another.  So no one in the West Wing knew what Bette Lewis would be from one week to the next; and she was sought after for advice and counsel for that very reason.  She too had had professional experience.  She as a he had been a wolf of Wall Street, a dazzler with innovative products and a billionaire before the age of 30.  She came out one week looking exactly as a male financial predator should look – channeling Leo DiCaprio and Christian Bale – and another a Beacon Hill hostess, charming and demure center of the establishment crowd.

Biden’s popularity soared.  The press, always on his side, was now gushing with praise for his ‘real life’ commitment to diversity and inclusivity; and lined up for interviews with his new White House appointees.  Democrats in Congress were overjoyed at his public display of political commitment for the alternate members of society.  Only political conservatives were less than enthusiastic.  They were the ones who first called the White House a political bordello and wanted no part of it.  They were happy enough with real strippers, hookers, and tarts to go around.

And so it was that President Biden, thanks to Freud, the Squad, and the progressive shills in Congress was a particularly happy man.  He had found his place, and suffered conservative fools much more generously.  He waved them off when they attacked his policies on immigration, taxes, and energy, and retired content and satisfied to the Presidential bedroom with his wife, Jill every evening.  The gay, crossdressing butler, nattily attired in morning suit and tails, served them breakfast in bed.  “Good morning, Mr. President”, she said; and Joe Biden knew it was going to be a good day.

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