I thought we'd be together forever, it but ended when I found out that Blake might be a terrorist.  At first it came as shock.  When Homeland Security Secretary Janet Napolitano announced that right wingers like Blake might be terrorists, I was taken aback.  “Not my Blake!” I thought.  But then I began to wonder about those guns he collects.  Originally, I took his fascination with big guns to be a way of compensating for his little package.  However, now that an official government report has come out, I've got to take this seriously.  What if we got married and had kids, only to one day find out that he's a terrorist?

Blake and I met at a debate held by the Young College Republicans.  His confident swagger thrilled me.  He had all the markings of a successful man.  He was studying for his MBA.  He wore big shoes.  He planned on making his millions on Wall Street.  Bush was President and it was a good time to be  right-wing and white.  I pegged my future on him, but now college is over, the economy has crashed, Blake is unemployed, and  Napolitano believe he may be a terrorist.

For a while, I tried to get Blake to reform.  I tried to break his Fox News habit by distracting him with sex, but he couldn't get it up without checking out Laurie Dhue's thighs or listening to a foaming-at-the mouth-diatribe by Bill O'Reilly.


In the end, I'd always found myself on my knees giving him head to the sound of some right-wing rant.  I explained to Blake over and over that there was no future in watching Fox News.  If someone found out he was watching Neo-Nazi programming, he'd never pass a background check.

I came to realize that the situation was hopeless.  His activities in the Minuteman movement marked him forever as a right-wing terrorist want-to-be.  He just wasn't material for raising a healthy family.  Not now.  Not now that Republicans are terrorists.  As hard as it was, I knew it was time to find someone else.  That's when I met Barry, the good socialist boy.

I wasn't really looking to meet anyone that day walking through Boston Common, but there he was, passing out copies of a socialist magazine.  He was tall and had beautiful brown skin, like the President.  His dreadlocks fell upon his shoulders.  I looked him over, from top to bottom, and, well, let's just say I was impressed.

Blake took it hard.  I feel sorry for him, but I don't want to be married to the next Timothy McVeigh.  A women's got to do what a woman's got to do.