Mrs Bishop Robinson (Achtung! Female Leg!).

Many thanks to reader Quiltwallah for this link.

It appears that our very own Mrs Robinson, already the object of the attentions of this blog, is now going to change is Facebook status from “pretend married fag” to “single fag”, or more probably “fish look fish” (don’t worry, pretend Bishop; these are a rather perverted bunch; you’ll find one that suits you).

The article might surpass in sugary content what I thought was not possible to “improve” upon: the divorce of Al and Tipper Gore, an orgy of mutual support that left the polar bear cubs wondering what needs there was of divorce in the first place (if memory serves, it was Larry David’s wife, a rabid environmentalist; but memory might not serve, and life’s too short for checking).

Mrs Robinson (assuming here he had, within the “couple”, the role of “Mrs”; we might, if God is merciful, never know the truth) plays the entire keyboard of the sugary common places, leaving only “in some way, we will always love each other” aside. I think. Life’s too short, again…

He plays the role of the old wise fag, who thought his “union” was sooo made in heaven but can’t really say, for obvious PR reasons, what we all know: that it was made in hell. But you understand how grand he is, and how graciously – with just an idea of mascara – he hints at the fact he has been dumped. Yeah, he seems to say: there are always faults on both sides. But haven’t you noticed how good I am nevertheless?

And so, just after Easter – which we understand has kept him very busy: what colour might Jesus’ tunic have been? Did the crown match with the red of His blood? And was Disma, perhaps, just a tad “gay”? – Mrs Robinson told us the two are now going to go their separate way, or “gay” sauna.

I understand Monsignor Ricca is still to be had, so perhaps Mrs Robinson might, well, try to seduce him.

Hell holds a place for stupid gays.

Hey, hey, hey.

Hey, hey, hey.

Mundabor