Christine O'Donnell for Congress!

I love Christine O'Donnell. She speaks to me. Not politically, hell no. I look at her and I see the woman that I pursued in the 80's. Cute, clueless and with a desire to be driven. Uh, if there are any women reading this that knew me in the 80's, or dated me anytime before 2007, then I'm not talking about you. You were special. I mean that, really.

When I hear that Christine utters stupidity, I Google her for photos just to ogle her boobs. Her mind is a sex-magnet. Her intellect screams, "Take Me! I won't remember it!". This is a dream to a man ... and some women.

Let's be honest, Christine is cute. No one has a complextion that clear unless copious amounts of self-diddling have taken place. And to think that said diddling might have occurred during naked rituals around the candlelit pentagram with Peruvian goat blood accents is a much more enticing thought.

This isn't a political thought ... this is a human thought. Appease the little head of the male voting populace. Doff the mom jeans, Christine. Don the Latex with zippers. You're selling fantasies, afterall. Might as well make 'em sellable to the ones who want you for who you are.

Harsh? Yeah. True. Oh, yeah. Put Sarah Palin in a thong and bra and have her do a lap at Talledega in a stock car and she'll be president.

Just sayin' ...