Santorum: Dead Baby Playtime

In his Senate office, on a shelf next to an autographed baseball, Sen. Rick Santorum keeps a framed photo of his son Gabriel Michael, the fourth of his seven children. Named for two archangels, Gabriel Michael was born prematurely, at 20 weeks, on Oct. 11, 1996, and lived two hours outside the womb.

Upon their son’s death, Rick and Karen Santorum opted not to bring his body to a funeral home. Instead, they bundled him in a blanket and drove him to Karen’s parents’ home in Pittsburgh. There, they spent several hours kissing and cuddling Gabriel with his three siblings, ages 6, 4 and 1 1/2. They took photos, sang lullabies in his ear and held a private Mass.

OK – so not only is Rick Santorum a Jesus-fried bigot, but he’s also completely fucking insane?  Supporting this psychopath not only immediately eliminates you from a serious political discussion, but also qualifies you for an psychological examination. Jesus. fuck. what the fuck.

Gracias to Michael Keane for bringing this to my attention. This photoshop is tailored to the kind of family photography Rick Santorum has on his mantle and Mike’s morbid sense of humor.


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2 comments on “Santorum: Dead Baby Playtime

  1. Mike K on said:

    I will never be able to watch Weekend At Bernie’s without thinking of Santorum. Can someone explain when they think life stops? Clearly they think it starts the moment a spermatozoa tail is all you can see sticking out of an egg, but how long can they have a relationship with a dead body before it approaches a type of necrophiliac or maybe necropedophilia?

    Next time they say “what if your mom had had an abortion?” tell them their father jacked off and killed their sister.

  2. Bob Andruzzi on said:

    Interesting. Something happened to my wife and short lived “baby.” She wanted time with the thing. Against her wishes, I threw the fucking thing in the medical waste bin along with the needles and bandages. It nearly drove her to divorce me. Thankfully, she saw it my way. It’s a fucking dead bunch of cells, no different than a huge goiter removed from a neck. Even worse, a former friend of mine went to visit his elderly dad. He wasn’t answering his phone. Turned out his dad was dead for probably 24 hours. He laid next to his dead body for about two hours talking to IT before calling anyone. When I brought up the absurdity of it, he hung up on me and we never talked again. As far as I’m concerned when I can hear it cry, it’s a baby – before that, stab the fucking thing with a pitchfork, it’s no different than a tumor.

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