SEX SCANDALZ!!11111111111111111111111111111111

Hey assholes, it's Kenny Blogginz here. You know, I've been reading a lot of stories on the net about sex scandals lately. If there's one elected official in America who hasn't involved their genitals in some sort of zany shenanigans, I've yet to read about him or her. After a while, I started to get nervous. You see, Kenny Blogginz has done a lot of sexual things that he's not too proud of. There are some very large men with some very compromising photos of me in Paraguay, and I think it would be better for my image if I just came clean now, instead of waiting for the big MSNBC newsbreak. I'm going to write about some pretty disgusting, soul-shattering sexual deeds in this post, so if you're squeamish or a Christian, you may want to click over to trusted news source and read about some fucking dog that can paint portraits or something. I just hope you can see past the crust of Anal Misdeeds to the shining light of the Writer's Word Cannon.

Okay. Deep breaths. I once paid a prominent Catholic Archbishop to dress up like Batman and insert a pickle jar into my anus. I'm not going to disclose this man's name, because he is one of the most upstanding, morally sound Americans I have ever met. He simply suffered a momentary lapse of judgment, when $3,500 sounded like a good price to fly all the way out to Portugal, dress like a superhero, and insert a very large, very dry glass jar into an 18 year old boy's then-virginal poop-chute. Look, the economy is in shambles right now, people. Shambles! Even the wage of an Archbishop wasn't enough to support his cocaine addiction.

Everyone remembers exactly where they were and what they were doing when they found out that terrorists had attacked American Soil on September 11th. My memory of that fateful morning is especially vivid, as I was locked in a janitor's closet with Chicago Alderwoman Nancy O'Herlihy, whom I had somehow convinced to shove a mop head down my throat, while I applied old fashioned clothes-pins to my nipples. That's right, Chicago Alderwoman Nancy O'Herlihy. I don't hesitate to reveal her involvement. She knows what she did. By "she", I of course am referring to Chicago's Democratic Alderwoman, Nancy O'Herlihy.

This is very painful for me to write about, but Mel Gibson was actually driving home from my apartment that fateful night when he got arrested for DUI. I had met Mel on Facebook, and we really hit it off. After a brief cyber-friendship, we agreed to meet in person. He showed up at my door dressed like his iconic character, William Wallace, from the major motion picture blockbuster Braveheart. We roleplayed for many hours, which mainly consisted of the legendary Scottish hero smacking my ass with the flat of his impressive 6 foot broadsword, and shouting quotes from Braveheart in his impeccable Scottish accent. The plastic tarps on my couch and carpet were covered in blue paint by the time we got done. Unfortunately, Mr. Gibson really overdid it with the bodyshots that night, and ended up saying some very regrettable things to Officer Valerie Sugartits.

I once paid Bob Saget $6,000 to smash my genitals in a very large, leather-bound copy of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance." He ended up shattering my left testicle, and I had to have Bobcat Goldthwait drive me to the emergency room.

Lastly, and most disturbingly, in 2005, Presidential hopeful John McCain hired me to insert 5,000 Marshmallow Peeps into his asshole. Look, the middle class has been under attack for a long time in America, and I was experiencing some financial difficulty. What, do you people think I have a money tree in my back yard that grows dollar bills all day long? You think I just have a Currency Ficus that can sprout hundreds of dollars whenever I want it to? You think I go out behind my cottage and water a small tree that sprouts legal tender? You think I can just go out with my wicker basket and pluck $500 just as quick as I please? I have bills to pay, people, and at times I've been forced to put Marshmallow Peeps in John McCain's elderly sphincter. I'm not proud of it.

There it is, Shakesville, laid out in black and white. I hope this doesn't diminish your opinions of me. I have moved on, and I hope you can too. Oh yeah, and one time I had Penn Gillette shit all over my chest.

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