by Roy Moore

I was so close. So close I could taste the caviar at the annual Goldman Sachs mixer. So close to the corporate wine and diners, the lavish hotel stays, the backhanders, and not to mention the respect of not only the people of Alabama but the entire U S of A… But it’s all over. My entire career. My dreams of finally becoming a United States senator—done. And all because of those damn sexy kids.

I almost had it all. Until all this hullabaloo started I was on my way to becoming a senator for the great state of Alabama. No one knew who I was or anything about me. No one cared I wanted to make homosexuality illegal. No one cared that I called native people “reds” and asian people “yellows”. No negative press coverage about paying myself one million bucks from my own charity. Nothing. I was in the clear, scott-free. And then? Then those blasted sexy kids showed up again to ruin everything.

Now this isn’t my first run in with these young ladies. I would see them often back in my early 30’s, when I would go shopping late on Friday and Saturday nights as you do. They used to follow me everywhere I went… Claire’s, Hollister, heck even Victoria’s Secret’s Teens section, they were relentless. And now just as I’m approaching the finish line those damn meddling sexy kids are back to spoil my fun.

I always knew those beautiful young girls would be the death of me I just never knew how or why. Before all of this I have always been seen as a gentleman and model citizen. I wrote poetry about aborted foetuses, rapped about 9/11 being justified because America turned away from God, and I never dated a teenage girl without asking her Mama’s permission first.

But all that good behaviour counts for nothing now. If it wasn’t for those teenage kids and their god-damned sexyness I’d be a U.S. Senator and no one would be any the wiser. Instead, heck I’ll be lucky to make the House of Representatives and I’ll probably even be labelled as some sort of creep. Yeah these sexy kids stitched me up real good this time.

So yeah. It’s me, “old man Moore”, here I am, back in my old stomping ground on the second floor of The Gadsden Mall, outside Victoria Secret. That grinning creep Mueller and his gang of “accusers” think they were so clever seeing through my Hannah Montana mask like that. But I’ll be back, my boys down at the Alabama G.O.P. will bail me out and then I’ll be back on the senate floor and the lingerie section of GAP Kids before you know it.

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