Mike Gatto Changed My Fucking Life

When I first met Daulton Gatto in my pet store, he was stocking up on mixed seed bells for his parrot Harley (a great choice), and I thought he was just another bird booster like me, a fellow friend of our feathered friends. I was drifting at the time, my love for birds had waned—teaching cockatoos curse words and racial slurs is only funny for so long.

Woodpecker

Early bird gets MY worm.

Then, Daulton told me about a passion truer and deeper than anything a person can share with a fowl. That is the love of a man and his State Assemblyman. But only when that assemblyman is MIKE FUCKING GATTO!!!

Pussy Slayer

Pussy Slayer

I had never heard of Mike Gatto, so Daulton (no relation to the glorious G-man of Sac-town, asshats) gave me the broad strokes in a four-hour long dissertation. I’ve backed politicians in the past (Ron Paul takes no prisoners, fuckface!), but never has one representative combined all the perfection one man can attain—an incredibly fit and agile hard body, hair that shines like the Mediterranean in spring, a smile that demands your attention and worship, and a whale-sized cock that can satisfy a woman after merely a single glance.

Mike's dick is bigger than this.

Mike’s dick is bigger than this.

Now I’m fully awake, alert and behind Mike Gatto with my whole body, heart and soul. I can’t wait to see Team Gatto storm the White House some day—the most handsome leader of any country ever. To achieve world peace, he’d merely have to walk into the United Nations, drop that honey-baked ham steak of a wang onto Ban Ki-moon’s desk, and say, “Bring home the troops, or you’ll never see this boomstick again.”

Me so horny.

Me so horny.

Vladimir Putin would surrender Russia to the good, ol’ U.S. of fuckin’ A. just for a sniff of that meat-sicle. Kim Jong-Un would put a fucking machete through his jugular if he knew what kind of heavy machinery Mike Gatto was hiding behind his zipper. The Boko Haram would hand over all their kidnapped girls to Mike for the fear of being torn asunder by his mighty piss stream.

Please Mike, don't hammer 'em (with your dick!)

Please Mike, don’t hammer ’em (with your dick!)

Now all the birds of the world can fuck right off, because my heart only has room for Mike Gatto. I can’t wait for Daulton’s next trip to the pet store to buy some stupid bullshit for his bird, then he can regale me with stories of Mike and the dong that’ll unite the planet in peace, love and cum-worship.

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