Previously on Santorum Slashfic, Matt Roomby brainstormed ideas for reaching out to the mom vote, then settled in with Ricky for some light erotic reading. This week, Ricky flexes his creativity bone. Better make yourself a whiskey sour, Ricky’s a pretty slow worker!
Santorum Slashfic: Ricky Makes His Best Friend a Blingee
Previously on Santorum Slashfic, Ricky learned a valuable lesson about online dating. This week, Ricky tries to make sense of the latest crisis to hit the Romney campaign. Please check your gently used copies of 50 Shades of Grey at the door, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride!
Everybody in Matt Roomby’s house keeps talking about the brain capital and Ricky Santorum is very confused! He knows that when a place has a lot of one thing, people sometimes call it the that-thing capital. But if that’s true, how come there are no brains anywhere??
Continue reading: Santorum Slashfic: 50 Shades of Mitt Romney
Even though he is supposed to be Matt Roomby’s dog Jeff Gordon, Ricky Santorum still carries a smart phone. At first Matt Roomby thought this was strange, and one morning asked Ricky why he always played Bubble Shooter whenever he went to the garden to go poop. “Woof woof,” Ricky said, and Matt Roomba just laughed.
This morning as he was Googling his own name, Ricky found a silly article that pretended to be news but was actually full of lies. After he finished reading the Fox News article, he found another one that made Ricky very confused! It said that a reporter found a Grindr app on his phone, which Ricky thought was for coffee! Ricky knew this wasn’t true either, because coffee gave the baby Jesus cancer and anyway he was Matt Roomby’s dog now. Still, Ricky had never heard of a Grindr, and decided to see if maybe it could help him find his friend Michael, who Ricky met last Easter. Just thinking of Michael made his whole face get hot!
“I think he has to go poop again,” the blonde lady who lived with Matt Roomby said. It was true, Ricky did have to go poop!
The first day Ricky Santorum moved in with Matt Roomby, he got a leather collar and a new name. It took Matt Roomby a while to decide what to call him, but finally he settled on Jeff Gordon, which according to one of Matt’s butlers is the name of a famous NASCAR driver. “I love NASCAR,” Matt said, wiping his forehead with a twenty-dollar bill.
That was two months ago, and they have been the best two months of Ricky’s whole life! Most of the time Ricky stays home with the blonde lady, but sometimes Matt takes Ricky on day trips to that one crowded place filled with drunk people where Ricky used to play senator. The crowded place reminds Ricky of when he was a baby and spent all day nursing, and that makes him miss his mommy a little, even though she’s mean. But when that happens Matt gives Ricky a biscuit, and tells him to go poop in all kinds of funny places, like Al Franken’s espresso machine. It’s hard to stay sad when you’re pooping!
Ricky Santorum hasn’t taken off his bunny costume since Easter. His mom kept telling him he had to because it smelled so bad, but Ricky kept saying NO MOM NO and crying. On the day Jesus told him to drop out of the President Race to spend more time with his gun collection, Ricky was so scared about what might happen if he changed his clothes he finger painted a suit-shape onto an old blanket and cut a hole where his head was supposed to go. “See mom no one can tell,” he said.
Once Ricky was in the bath, he remembered he’d hidden some Fisher Price Little People® where the soap should have been. He took them out and made them dance a bubble dance.
“My name is Ricky Santorum,” he made one say. “I am President of the United States!”
The other one was a lady with black hair. “My name is Matt Roomba,” he made her say. “I am a dingy!”
Ricky blushed saying such a bad thing! But it also felt good.
Addiction to Santorum is now common for adults and even for some children. The average age of first exposure to hard-core Santorum is now 11. Santorum is toxic to marriages and relationships. It contributes to misogyny and violence against women. It is a contributing factor to prostitution and sex trafficking.
Night has descended upon the land. Super Tuesday has come and gone, and Rick Santorum finds himself alone. At least he thinks he is alone. Rick Santorum: [looking down at disappointing election returns] WHAT HAVE I DONE. Darth Gingrich: [emerges from the shadows] You are fulfilling your destiny, Rick. Become my apprentice. Step over to the dark side. There’s no turning back now. Rick Santorum: I will do whatever you ask. Just help me save the unborn. I can’t live without them. If they aren’t born, I don’t know what I will do. Darth Gingrich: …You’re serious. Rick Santorum: Of course I am serious. A person’s a person, no matter how small.
“Ducky,” Rick Santorum asks, grasping the base of his favorite shale bath toy. “Am I a stinkpot?” Santorum splishes halfheartedly at the shower curtain and lets his soft body glide further under the water. Almost up to his eyes. “Look,” he froths through the soapy water. “I’m a papapotamus.” Rick laughs, but he is sad. It’s been a long day. He lost another one of the states where the sinners are to the man with all the teeth. If he loses again on Tuesday, how else will he save the unborn. Worse, just after the results were announced, he’d overheard one of his advisors call him a mean name. (via Santorum Slashfic: Rank Stinktorium Takes a Bath | Modern Primate | The Manhood Manual)