A bear named David Phillips has recently revealed to Wonkette his tale of Larry Craig lovin' and I think I'm going to be ill. I can't get into the nastier parts of poor David's encounter because I might have to kill myself, but I will say he's got a divine, trashy novel-esque way of telling a story.
Props to Wonkette, an apparent fellow hag who coaxed her traumatized friend into going national with his totally embarrassing hook up. Like any of us needed confirmation that Larry likes boys, but still.
My favorite part of David's story are when he described Larry's house thusly: "The bric-a-brac with family pictures didn't scream 'old queen' to me; it announced a woman's influence."
Larry's sex scandal has been tough on David, flooding back the memory of that horrible night decades ago, leaving him "feeling cold and used all over again." He actually describes this as "close" to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Currently "celebrating two years off meds and dealing with carpal tunnel release surgery," I love that David compares getting screwed by Larry Craig as "close" to, oh, I don't know, losing one's limb in a war or systematic rape by a parent.
Um, you had shitty sex with an asshole. Welcome to the club...