Like many San Franciscans, I’ve learned that there are people who are turned on by all sorts of stuff, and that just because I find it unappealing, or even repulsive, doesn’t make it any less legitimate as a source of pleasure. And I expect the same respect from other people.

I have to say I’ve hit my limit. There are some things that are just too disgusting to even contemplate.

Robert’s written before about Slash fiction–homoerotic love stories between fictional characters–and its interesting gender-bending context. Now I have to admit that the thought of Kirk and Spock getting it on does nothing for me, but I am happy that if it turns someone on, there’s someone else there to write it.

I have found the Slash, though, that crosses the line. The Slash that’s too repulsive for even me. The stuff I find too creepy and disgusting to exist.

Yes, I am talking about Dick Cheney Slash.

“So where are we in the White House, exactly?” Cheney asked as he searched for a cigarette he had in his suit jacket on the floor.

“This is an unperceived room. I call it my Confidential Room. Not even the president knows about it’s existence.”

“No shit… Really?” Cheney lit his cigarette and inhaled. “Can it be Our Confidential Room?”
Rumsfeld snickered as he began slipping his clothes back on. “You bet!”

Cheney grinned. He laid his head back, concentrating on the dark ceiling that strangely resembled a dark night sky.

Rumsfeld carefully fixed his hair and kissed Cheney on the forehead. With a wink and a farewell, he left Cheney lying there…

…in the confidential room that they claimed as theirs.

I shudder at the very thought of this obscenity.