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Kitty Kelley Outs George W. Bush

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George W. Bush cohabited at his Texas ranch and elsewhere with the Mayor of a major city in Tennessee, says Kitty Kelley....


It relates to George W. Bush's homosexual relationsip, since about puberty, with Victor Ashe, long-time Mayor of Knoxvillle.


When some in Congress began inquiries in the fall of 2003, Ashe in December, 2003, gave up being Knoxville Mayor and was appointed by George W. Bush, the occupant and resident of the White House, as the U.S. Ambassador to Poland.


Bush and Ashe are both members of the satanic cult, "Skull & Bones", headquartered in a windowless building,called "The Tomb" on the campus of Yale University. Part of the initiation procedure is for the new proposed member to divulge his entire sexual history, to several other Bonesmen, so that when he is shoved up into high office, government, finance, etc., he can be blackmailed into silence.The new member has to cavort, au naturel, sometimes more than once, with another Bonesman in a double-size coffin filled with mud.




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Guest zipperzone

>George W. Bush cohabited at his Texas ranch and elsewhere

>with the Mayor of a major city in Tennessee, says Kitty




All this is somewhat hard to believe. But if it is true, and Kitty Kelley's book actually does delve into these matters....... she had better be looking over her shoulder a lot. She could end up the same as Dorothy Killgallen - remember her?

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I would be majorly bummed if Bush turned out to be gay. We don't want him!


On the other hand, it means that his God-fearing fag-hating followers would drop him like a hot potato -- so it wouldn't be all bad news.

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since kerry amd bush were both members of skull and bones and since alums sometimes come back to visit, it's possible that they have had sex together; who do you think screwed the other back then; who was the top and who was the bottom; since kerry

"flip flops" so much now, did he back then,too?

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>since kerry amd bush were both members of skull and bones and

>since alums sometimes come back to visit, it's possible that

>they have had sex together; who do you think screwed the

>other back then; who was the top and who was the bottom; since

>kerry "flip flops" so much now, did he back then,too?



Dude...now you're really grossing me out.

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Assuming any of this is true, I'd guess Bush would be a bottom. His phony macho pose may fool the GOP faithful, but I think almost any gay man can see through it. After all, Dubya isn't a cowboy, and he didn't grow up ridin' herd on the range. It's a complete act. We're talking about the scion of a Connecticut Republican political dynasty who went to residential prep school and then college in New England, and summered in Kennebunkport. Back in Texas, where for some deeply mysterious reason the Bushes desperately want to be thought to be from (well, maybe because that way they can raise more money for their political careers), people from New England with posh accents are often considered "girlie-men," if you know what I mean. (And there ain't ANYBODY on this board who doesn't know what I mean! But if you don't like the term "girlie-man" try "effete, effeminate Easterner.")


So, Dubya would hardly be the first or the last "girlie-man" to adopt a macho pose, costume and way of talking to try to disguise his real proclivities. But, as we all know, whether it's cowboy drag, motorcycle drag, truck driver drag, or Nazi brown shirt drag, it's all DRAG! And Bush's pathetic cowboy act is just that: an act. Exactly what it's covering up, I can't say (unless it turns out Kitty Kelley really does have the goods on Dubya). But it's pretty clear that it's covering up for something, and I'm sure we all know that it's quite common for men insecure about their masculinity to adopt super-masculine poses in an effort to compensate. Which certainly goes a long way towards explaining Bush's swaggerin' and twangin' and trigger-happiness. It's shudderingly phony, and it's hard to believe people are taken in by it. But P.T. Barnum was right. . .


Kerry, by contrast, seems to be pretty much a case of "what you see is what you get." He doesn't hide his background or accent, he's not ashamed of having gone to prep school or Yale, he doesn't put on a "common man" pose. And he isn't a coward. That makes him a lot more genuine, in my book, than our Lone Ranger wannabee President ever will be. And, if he were gay, I'd guess Kerry would be a top. So if he and Bush ever got it on at Skull and Bones, I'd wager that Dubya was on the receiving end. :+

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>Assuming any of this is true, I'd guess Bush would be a





New Yorker Issue of 2004-09-13



July 7, 2004—I didn’t want it to happen. I didn’t see it coming. I’m a husband. I’m a father. I’m the President of the United States of America. I’m freedom’s go-to guy. But today, while I was watching one of my ads, that spot attacking him for being all flippity-floppity on Iraq, I realized, beyond a shadow of a doubt: Oh, my God, I’m in love with John Kerry.


July 8, 2004—I hoped that once I’d written it down, once I could actually see the words in these most secret diary pages, my undeniable feelings would, I don’t know, just somehow vanish. I mean, I’ve never even thought about another fellow that way, not ever—O.K., Ted Kennedy at the pool in those sopping madras trunks. I’m only human. But this is different. This is oddly . . . sacred. Those liquid, burden-of-decency basset-hound eyes. That long, luscious, Leno ’n’ Lincoln jaw. That cinder-block-thick, brushed-chrome hair. Who cares what really happened in Vietnam? That dense, silvery helmet could make any nation feel safe. I’m so ashamed. And I’ve never felt more alive.


July 11, 2004—I couldn’t keep it to myself, not one second longer. I had to tell someone I trusted absolutely, someone whoI thought just might understand—Rumsfeld. I said, “Don, I have something to tell you. Something powerful. Something true. I’m madly, hopelessly, soul-quiveringly in love with John Kerry.” He stared at me. Had I made a terrible mistake? And then he grasped my forearm and whispered, in that low, husky, irresistibly ruthless voice, “Mr. President—you, too?” Then he opened the briefcase he always keeps handcuffed to his wrist and showed me all of his most treasured photos—J.K. in shirtsleeves, his tie loosened; a young J.K., radiant in fatigues; J.K. at the Convention podium, offering that dashing “Reporting for duty” salute. Donald and I were clutching each other’s shoulders, hopping up and down, squealing, wondering which of us he’d choose. “Oh, but you’re so much smarter and tougher,” I insisted. “But you were a cheerleader,” he told me, ruefully. “That’s true,” I admitted, trying not to sound smug. “Stop smiling like that,” Donald snapped, grabbing the pictures back.


July 21, 2004—I had to tell Laura. It was the right thing, the only decent thing, to do. I knew there’d be tears, and I knew she’d need Entenmann’s. But I sat her down and I said, “Babe, we’ve had a good, long run. You made me quit boozing, you’ve watched me jog, you’ve shown me what books are for. But we can’t live a lie—I love John Kerry.” She took a deep, sharp breath. Could she ever forgive me? Could she make any sort of life for herself? “That bitch,” she finally hissed. “I knew it. I knew he wanted you. I’m just a small-town Texas librarian; how am I supposed to compete with that?” She called out to the twins, “Jenna! Barbara! Get in here! Your dad’s in love with Kerry!” “Duh,” said Barbara. “Double duh,” echoed Jenna. “Should we call him Uncle John, or just Other Dad?” “Everyone in this family is a drunken pig,” Laura seethed, lunging for another box of Munchkins.


August 5, 2004—I’m giddy, I’m like a child, like a butterfly, like a land mine—if only Osama could share this happiness, and soar on a jihad of love! I called my folks and I told ’em, “Mom, Dad, I’m in love with John Kerry and nothing can stop me!” There was a brief pause, and then I heard my mother say, “I win the bet.” “Are you sure about this, son?” my dad asked. “Remember when you were in love with that Barbara Eden person?” “But I found out she wasn’t a real genie,” I protested. “John, though—he’s pure magic!” Mom sighed heavily, the way she did after she found out I was elected. “Are you going to do the right thing?” my dad demanded. “Are you gonna marry him?” “Of course!” I all but sang. “I’m going to pass a constitutional amendment, just for the two of us! Nobody else! I want it to be special.”


August 11, 2004—I’ve figured it all out—we’ll be co-Presidents. We won’t even need an election! Whenever we have to make a decision, like to invade the bad Korea, or to allow people to deduct servants as family members, I’ll just gaze across the breakfast table and ask, “Honey, what do you think?” And he’ll twinkle impishly—I’ll teach him how—and he’ll say, “Sweetheart, you know best.” “No, you,” I’ll insist, roguishly. “Stop it,” he’ll pretend to bark, his eyes telling a different story. And then we’ll take turns drafting policy, and if one of us disagrees we’ll just cock a thumb at the other guy and chirp, “Hail to the Chief!”


August 14, 2004—There’s only one thing left to do, the final step on my escalator to ecstasy: I’m going to tell him. I’ve got his top-secret, ultra-personal campaign cell-phone number, and I’ve planned it all out. If Teresa answers, I’ll be really polite. I’ll just say, “Could I please speak to John? And, remember, whatever happens, you’re still really rich.” And then he’ll get on the line and I’ll say playfully, “Guess who this is!” And after he tries “Will Ferrell?” or “Whoopi?” I’ll blurt, “No, Silliness! It’s the President!” And he’ll ask, “How do I know it’s really you?” And I’ll say, joyfully and honestly, looking the phone straight in the eye, “Because—I love you!” And he’ll gasp and then, the words aching with emotion, he’ll plead, “Don’t say something like that. Not unless you really mean it.” “Of course I mean it,” I’ll declare. “I’ve never meant anything so much in my entire life! This morning Ashcroft asked me if I was high on painkillers!” “Oh, George,” he’ll coo. “I’ve hoped . . . I’ve dreamed . . . but I’ve never dared to imagine that you might feel this way, too! Can we head down to your ranch and pretend to clear brush together?” “Name the date!” I’ll crow. It’s going to be so incredible; he’s gonna make me the happiest guy since, since—well, all I can say is, this is so Yale! I’m picking up the phone, I’m dialling, it’s ringing, he’s answering! Wish me all the lovingest luck in the world, here I go!


August 15, 2004—I hate him.

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Kerry has hidden the fact that he is Jewish on his father's side. The family adopted the name Kerry and became Catholic to seem Irish Catholic. In earlier elections Kerry told tales of his poor Irish grandfather, and now I understand, says he didn't know he was Jewish. He says he is Catholic--a political necessity in Mass--but he doesn't agree with his church on abortion and other social issues.

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>Kerry has hidden the fact that he is Jewish on his father's



You're not Jewish unless your mother is Jewish -- but never mind, it doesn't make any difference to rabid anti-Semites.


>The family adopted the name Kerry and became Catholic to

>seem Irish Catholic.


Those were some really smart Jews, to want to become Irish Catholic a couple generations before ending up in Massachusetts. Or perhaps some really dumb Jews, because Irish Catholics were just one step above black Protestants in Boston's caste system.


==Fritz and Otto excelled in their studies in Vienna. However, like other Jews, they suffered greatly from the anti-Semitism that prevailed in Europe at this time. As a result, both Kohn brothers abandoned their Jewish heritage and converted to Roman Catholicism.


In addition, in 1897, Otto decided to shed the Jewish-sounding name of Kohn. He chose a new name by dropping a pencil on a map. The pencil landed on Ireland's County Kerry. In 1901, Fritz followed his brother’s example and officially changed his name to Frederick Kerry. ...


Fred, Ida and their first son Erich were all baptized as Catholics. And in 1905, the young family immigrated to America.==



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>The point, which you missed, is that in Kerry's case, what

>you see is not what you get.


As opposed to Bush, who says he is fighting global AIDS with $15 billion but really isn't, or who creates programs like No Child Left Behind (completely underfunded), Clear Skies (adds pollutants to the air), Healthy Forests (destroys trees)...who says we are going to Iraq to find WMD's and then switches that to "liberating Iraqi's" when no WMD's are found...who says he supports the troops but doesn't give them the armor they need and strips veterans of their healthcare...who says he will help seniors but fucks them over with the Medicare Bill...who says he is protecting us but has not secured our ports or our airports (decreased Air Marshalls, most baggage not being screened, etc)...who claims to support the police but won't renew the assault weapons bill. The Texas Rancher charade is just the tip of the iceberg of Bush's deceptions.

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Who cares who is getting killed -- literally -- by Bush's policies when it's more important to figure out exactly which ancestor of Kerry's chose the name 'Kerry' and why.


For those in Boston, this is all old news. The Boston Globe researched it a few years ago and printed a story about Kerry's family history. At the time, if I recall correctly, he was surprised and didn't know the family history.


Perhaps, over one hundred years ago, Kerry's ancestors decided that their future descendant would need a good, Irish name to run for president... if you believe that, I've got some land for sale.


John Kerry has used the name Kerry for his entire life and evidently thought he was Irish. If the family name has a history to it, that simply makes it more interesting to me. I see nothing negative at all in having a Jewish ancestor instead of an Irish one.


Bush's record is so bad in so many ways, his supporters see their best hope in tearing down Kerry. A pity, isn't it, that they can't run on how well he has governed, how well he has "united, not divided" the country, how well his policies have served the average American, and how much safer the US -- and indeed the world -- is today as a result of Bush's policies.


What a joke. Too bad it's on us.



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Actually Bush is running entirely on his record. It is Kerry who wants to run on his Vietnam record--not his record in Congress--and his supporters want to focus on the National Guard to keep the publics eye off Kerry's dismal Congressional record.

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A bigger problem for Kerry is that all this ourtrageous and continual smearing of the President by Kerry is having a backlash. Drudgereport.com has a link to a Washington Post poll showing that Kerry's popularity is now down there with Joseph McCarthy and below J Edgar Hoover.

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Meanwhile, back to the original topic of this thread: What a relief that Kitty Kelley doesn't drop any beads on Bush! The idea of having to claim Dubya as a fellow friend of Dorothy was giving me goose-flesh! Now we can sleep peacefully, knowing that he's just your typical insecure macho hetero creep. . .

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