... it was for Marge to bear with, it's what made it fun. It's what made it so taboo, and Ned was unique in that way. Hell, even Reverend Lovejoy was a careless brute in the sack. Bondage, name-calling, all other kinky shit; believe it or not, he was the king of all that in this two-faced, sex-crazed town.
And Lovejoy was the man to 'ignite the match' for Marge, so to speak. He was her first in well over 20 years (apart from Homer, of course) and made her the town cum-doll this past year. On the occasional visit to Shelbyville, Lovejoy would call upon all newly-legal women and (more often than not) be the guy to pop their cherries. Eighteen year-old, half-normal, half-country-hick girls who saw Lovejoy as high end. How this man was still considered a "Man of God" went completely out the window. Sure, all his "companions" were of legal age and sound mind (except perhaps Brandine), but for a fella who stands up every Sunday in spreading the Holy Word to then five minutes later go sticking his dick in whatever so wife or teenager he desires is utterly fucked up.
Anyway, back to the story. To cut her sex romp with "Good-Fellow Flanders" short, he came, she laughed maniacally, she got dressed, he got dressed, he projectile vomited with guilt, she pissed on his carpet. Yeah, disturbing. But that's how Marge Simpson was now.
Next stop: Moe's Tavern. Marge drove her orange station wagon through the cold night. She wore a sparkling red dress, n...