Dear Bobby Jindal,

Since you feel so threatened by homosexuals, I’m coming for you. And before long, you’ll be coming for me, too. Over and over. And over.

You will discover your fear of me is quite justified when I secure your limbs in handcuffs and insert a ball gag in your mouth. You will have a special place in my heart and a very special place in the back of my unassuming pawn shop, where we will discuss Bossier City state Rep. Mike Johnson’s bill with its so-called protections of religious freedoms in exciting detail.

Once your clothes are forcibly removed, your naked, lithe body will be roughly lowered over the wooden Bench of Obedience. The smack of my black leather, metal-studded paddle against your bare, goose-fleshed buttocks should be quite adequate for coaxing your pathetic defense of House Bill 707.

I will softly whisper into those delicate, mocha-brown ears confirmation of your ultimate fear: a covert, decadeslong campaign to convert every weak-minded heterosexual fool in this country to the hedonistic depravity of gay butt sex.

Pleasure and pain will intertwine deliciously as you are compelled again and again to understand how this caustic and misguided attempt at protecting religion serves only to further divide those who do not understand true liberty and the majesty of my turgid, nine-and-a-half-inch penis.

As you near sexual release, I will softly whisper into those delicate, mocha-brown ears confirmation of your ultimate fear: a covert, decadeslong campaign to convert every weak-minded heterosexual fool in this country to the hedonistic depravity of gay butt sex. Oh, how I look forward to singing songs of homosexual rapture!

So prepare ye, Bobby, for the Gimp. We will learn together why the people of Louisiana were right all along to dread the immortal terror that is homosexuality.