Pretty sure the only way to decontaminate that would be to gut it to the walls and start over.

That is, after we perform an cleansing ritual.

WTF was he doing in there?

All together now, ewwwww?

This sounds a little like the tube sock holocaust ….what ever happened to “Every Sperm is Sacred.!”
I’m sure Patriot Boy has a spare jar….

Wouldn’t they be happier as “Snow Flake Sperms” .. than as Day Glo wallpaper..?

It’ll be fun to see who steps up to take the room once Ensign has officially vacated. I suspect there’s a waiting list of fine, upstanding men hoping to get a bunk at the most famous frat house in D.C.

Word up has it Doughy PantLoad Junior has been spotted licking those sea-mens off the wall….

And the “Ground Zero Tow Truck SeaMan” lives on……

I started a comment, but realized I’ve gotta be at least +5 to get into the proper spirit of this thread.

I’ll be back after I knock back a few more and watch a couple hours of Cinemax.

You read my mind exactly. Ew…just…ew.

The thought crosses my mind that the sole value of having Ensign or Sanford in da house was all the spank-the-monkey material their “confessions” provided to the other members of the frat. You know these guys really get off on the illicit stuff, and the more illicit, the better. Even two wetsuits better, provided the confession is detailed enough…

Knowing where the skeletons are is a vital part of the GOP experience, hence, relatively private “confessions” play a prime role in coercion later on.

You really don’t think wiretapping was used to find terrorists, do you? It was used to find the pedophiles and put them in charge of the page program in return for un-compromised support, among other things.

Can’t make jokes about it after reading this from one of the links:

I was invited into The Family by a man who had dropped everything and moved to Washington to work with them. While he was there, his fiancee was raped. He wanted to jump on the next airplane to be with her, and his brothers in Christ decided to exercise their veto power. They said, “What was your fiancee doing in a bar without you? Perhaps this was God’s way of telling you that you are not supposed to be with this woman.”

These people need to be tarred and feathered en masse and whipped through the streets and straight into the Potomac.

That’s fucking disgusting. Seriously. I’m gonna be ill.

Sharlet: The Family began with this idea that God does not work through churches but rather through those whom The Family calls the “New Chosen.” They believe they’re chosen by God. They can’t be expected to pray with the rest of us. They need to pray in private with people of equal status.

When you join one of these prayer groups, you give these men veto power over your life, over every aspect of your life. Wives involved with The Family have said, “In my husband’s life, his brothers come first, I come second.”

This is not a new concept–and these groups do not just exist among Beltway power lobbyists and politicians. I went to a church affilliated college, and sort of dated a guy there, who, unbeknownst to me at the time, was a member of one of these “elitist” male prayer groups. We’ll refer to him as X. I suppose I should have known something was amiss when X.asked me if we could be “pre-engaged” before he kissed me. I had always associated “pre-engagement” as the cheesy status of high school cheerleaders who engaged in public osculation with the football players in front of the school’s trophy case.

One day a few months later the “prayer posse” was standing there outside the door to my dorm room. Everyone knew who they were, and they had always seemed pretty harmless–so I invited them in. The connection was not immediately evident, as X, the beau, was terminally Catholic, and the prayer posse’s members were known to be fundamentalist WASPs. They informed me in short order that they didn’t think it was “appropriate” that I date X. Apparently, X. was “troubled” by the relationship and had been confessing–god only knows what–to his prayer partners, among a resounding chorus of “Jeebus save us from the twin sins of Onanism and self-abuse.” At any rate, I told the prayer posse that I didn’t think my relationship with X. was any of their business. And furthermore, if he had any balls, he would have come to break it off with me himself instead of sending them to do it for him.

The relationship ended there. However, X. was bilingual, and so was I. And X. turned an almost fluorescent shade of pink when he was embarrassed. Over the next few months, X. endured numerous crises of conscience in the middle of the cafeteria. It’s fair.