We all, whether you know it or not, have been preparing for that moment in pop culture when your heterosexual status irretrievably leaped into the gay and homosexual-like bin. Sure, we’ve had brushes with it before over the last three decades: male gigolos claiming to have sodomized you, johns claiming to have been a lover of John in the 80s, et cetera, sex cetera. But now these men seem to be spilling out faster than you can say, “Craigslist flagged my post!” Not just one masseur has spilled the frank and beans about our dear John-John, but two. So, although I have always considered Kelly Preston to be the best beard in the game (sorry, Katie Holmes), not even she can dig her rented man out of this hole. Even worse, Scientology will be slapped within and inch of its life with more seepage on this story, because there will surely be more. Scientologists seem to be addicted to either
c*cks peens or cakes pastries (Yes, I’m talking to you, Kirstie Alley! Once the scandal escalates, the truth will be made clear…
Scientology does not cure men from puffing on peen. Otherwise, the Republican party wouldn’t be littered with tap-dancing stall tricks.
My cold, black heart almost beats for you because you’ve been living in the dark rooms of gaydom forever and a day. Why do I always get the impression that you want to get caught in a compromising position with a Craigslist ho and just end this fiasco of f*ckery? Because I’d bet the last can of Crisco that you are probably a kinky bitch behind closed doors. I can just imagine the repression involved. I wonder how many dildos Kelly Preston owns? I wonder how many times Kelly Preston has had to share that bed with the poolboy?
Why can’t Scientology just let you, Johnny Boy, be great?!