Dear SCREW,
I’ve debated whether or not to write this. But after what I witnessed — no, participated in — over the Fourth of July weekend, I can’t stay silent. You guys are the only publication with the balls (and brains) to print something like this, and frankly, I need to tell someone before I explode. Or implode. Hard to say which comes first.
There is a sex club called The Loomer-Schumers. Yes, that Loomer. And that Schumer.
It’s a private scene — invite-only, discreet, political cosplay at its freakiest. Men roleplay as Senator Chuck Schumer. Women as Laura Loomer. Everyone stays in character. Yes, bad makeup and everything. And everyone gets off.
Each couple arrives already partnered up, but that doesn’t last long.
The guiding principle is:
Schumers swap Loomers.
You enter the space (usually the backroom of a Chili’s or a rented Red Roof Inn suite off the interstate), dressed in your designated role. Glasses, tie, nasal monotone for the Schumers. Wig, heels, and manic libertarian shriek for the Loomers. Costuming is essential. No one breaks character.
Before the swap, there’s a ceremonial vote. Every attendee writes down the name of the man they most want to see wield unchecked sexual power for the evening. The man who wins becomes the Trump Daddy.
Trump Daddy has complete control. He can walk up to any Loomer-Schumer couple and insert himself — into the scene, the dialogue, the position, or the action. Whatever, however. He’s the executive order that overrides all consent that’s already been given. (Don’t worry — the real consent is negotiated up front. The rest is theater.)
Now to the lingo:
“Getting Loomered” means a Loomer drops to her knees and delivers oral while spouting off theories about Fauci and chemtrails.
“Getting Schumered” means the man in glasses goes down on his Loomer while mumbling about bipartisanship and the debt ceiling.
“Crossing the Aisle” means two Schumers go at it — or two Loomers — depending on how many hard seltzers and bad decisions are floating around.
Last month, they had to eject a Trump Daddy mid-session because he tried to introduce a Marjorie Taylor Greene into the mix without a quorum. That’s a big no-no. There are rules.
The sex is real. The politics are theater. But like most things in America right now, it’s hard to tell where the kink ends and the ideology begins.
I overheard talk of the next gathering — somewhere near Albany. There was mention of a booth already reserved at Chili’s. Apparently, they prefer chain restaurants because no one there asks questions. You just tell the hostess it’s a “private policy planning session,” and she nods and walks away.
I’m writing to you, SCREW, because the world needs to know. Not to stop it. Not to shame it. But to witness it. This is America now — a place where men pretend to be Chuck Schumer to get laid by women pretending to be Laura Loomer, all while a self-appointed Trump Daddy roams the floor like a horny autocrat.
Sure, it probably all started out as a joke, but now it’s a serious club, with dozens of members and chapters in Albany, two in Manhattan, one in D.C., and a new one in Boca Raton.
And the scariest part?
It was the best sex I’ve had in years.
— Name withheld, party registered
