Bigfoot Was Just the Beginning

Inside the secret fetishes of other American politicians.

A sasquatch walks the red carpet.
The Jack Link’s Sasquatch attends an ESPYs preparty at Avalon Hollywood on July 12, 2016, in Los Angeles. Dave Mangels/Getty Images

Look, let’s face it, we all have our wacky fetishes, am I right? I’m sure I’m not the first human to clear my internet browser before my husband borrows my computer. Regarding Denver Riggleman, a Virginia congressional candidate accused by his opponent over the weekend not only of campaigning with white supremacists but of loving Bigfoot erotica, I find myself uniquely well-placed to comment, because I wrote an extremely literary novel in which someone actually bangs Bigfoot. Yet in researching that novel, I was surprised how many other congressional leaders also have tastes that are … particular. Here’s a not-at-all-comprehensive list of the current ones.

Colorado’s Bleek Havertut (D) can only “finish” if there’s a plate of French fries on the nightstand. “I like to look at them during sex,” he was overheard saying at a Denver Denny’s. “It relaxes me to know they’ll be there, soft and cold, when I’m done.”

Minerva Swelterville (R–Idaho) is rumored to have a half-dozen of those awesome octopus-eating-out-a-woman paintings in her house. As I like to tell my husband, “Ding dong! Cunnilingus bell!” I mean, who can blame her, really.

A few years ago, just before his second term in office, Jon-Jon Sbart (D–Kansas) fell in love with a pink dolphin near Amazonas, Peru. Sure, it sounds unusual, but it wasn’t just a twisted physical affair in an Amazon tributary: The two dated for a while and then got married. Pink Trish now famously lives in a fresh-water swimming pool beneath the Kansas City Courthouse. Their many children are playful, adorable, and amphibious. Hard to judge true love, I guess.

No doubt you remember last year’s scandal involving Poot Hamm (R–Maine). He kept calling his female colleagues “witches.” It was “witch” this, “witch” that. Then, when several of the women came forward to accuse him of abuse and misogyny, he asked them to “Cut the cackle” and declared it a “Bona fide witch hunt.” “These rumors,” he said, “are no more than witches’ knickers caught in the breeze.” Anyway, poor Poot. He was a man obsessed. It really was no surprise to any of us when he was caught humping a broomstick in a supply closet at the Rayburn House Office Building.

Finally, I’d be remiss not to mention my own Washington state Congresswoman Alexandra Fortitude-Ball (R), who lied about a sexual fetish just to seem more interesting. We were all excited when she confessed to an intense, ongoing battle with climacophilia. “Falling down the stairs really turns me on,” she said, through tears. “I ask God, when will I be free of it? The more painful the fall, the wetter I get!”

I nearly cried with her; I voted for her just because she seemed sincere and un-boring. But then she fell down the stairs at a rally and lay there with a broken leg, groaning, and we were all like, “Did you come or what?” and she was like, “What are you talking about?” and we were like, “Your climacophilia!” And she was like, “Is there a doctor here?” and the doctor came over and examined her between the legs and declared, “In my professional opinion, this is no climacophiliac,” and of course she lost both her leg and the next election. What a phony!

Here’s the deal: Bigfoot porn is really a thing. Around the time my novel was published, a woman named Virginia Wade self-published a tidy 12,000-word book on Amazon called Cum for Bigfoot, in which women are dragged off into the woods and ravished by the simian creature. She raked in a whopping $30,000 a month in sales. The book was even translated into German: Komm für Bigfoot. Broke and in serious debt at the time, I considered writing some Bigfoot porn myself. But I’d never want to do such a favor for alleged Bigfoot-lover Denver Riggleman and his white-supremacist campaign buddies. That’s why my next book is the completely authorized [Passionate Ultrasonic Squeaking]: One Pink Dolphin’s True Story of Love.