Is This Safe For Work?

I want to frick the conservative out of you. I can't help myself. Every time you come into my office with your low cut shirt and cross necklace subtly splayed across your immaculate breasts I think about taking you, right there, as a man (with your consent, of course, r*pe culture is not okay). I want to pull off your panties and eat your kitty until your juices trickle down to the lower classes. I want you to moan so hard and so loud that you can't form coherent words, let alone talk about what Rush Limbaugh said about immigrants the other day. Each time 'those people' crosses your lips I think about your mouth wrapped around my prodigious peepee as my little people spill out of it. I want to make an anchor baby with you. I want to throw all the papers off my desk and ride you until gay marriage is legal in a majority of States or until you've come enough times to admit that maybe universal health care makes sense. And I mean all this respectfully, of course. I'm a feminist. Why do you do this to me. Why. Do you know what you're doing? Every time you come into my office and sit across from me and cross and recross your legs and talk about the weather and then (somehow) about how unemployment insurance is actually bad for poor people do you know that I'm wondering if your panties are equally as conservative? That I'm curious what you'd look like on top of me, my hands tweaking your nipples like doing so would be tweaking taxes on the top one percent? That I'm thinking about you looking back at me as I frick you from behind, your Jesus necklace swaying back and forth as you scream "Drill, baby, drill!" You're not crazy, just politically hypocritical. Social conservatism is selfish and untenable. Your adherence to laws written when people owned slaves and the largest city was 1/10th of what it is now is ruining this god darn country. And I want you so bad. I want you so so bad. Ugh. Be my Monica Lewinsky. I'll be your Bill Clinton. Let's reach across the aisle... and into each other's pants.