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Kommandant B continues to play The Denial Game in the wake of a Nightline piece on her suspiciously twee house-husband's efforts to pray the gay out of people in the name of reparative therapy. Add to this the growing shadow that nutcase preacher Bradley Dean is casting over her public persona and you have to start wondering how soon she'll be reduced to a 2012 version of either Pat Robertson or Gary Bauer.
Oh, and she and Family Lameass can have my porn after they pry it from my cold, dead fingers. So there. Nyaah.
Oh, and she and Family Lameass can have my porn after they pry it from my cold, dead fingers. So there. Nyaah.