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Regarding Anthony Weiner and Co.

Recent events involving former Rep. Anthony Weiner sadly appear to be commonplace in these modern times. I am puzzled by the continued stream of public men who believe that extra marital sex and sexting with the skeezy broad up the street or across the web, dalliances in public bathrooms, procreating with the maid (or a member of one’s camera crew) or love affairs with Argentinian women will not enter the public realm once a gal figures out what she’s got on the hook or has a good friend (like Linda Tripp) to advise her what’s she’s got on the hook and to save the blue dress.

Fact is, I don’t think these men believe they won’t be exposed – it’s the fear of exposure that brings the biggest kick – the chance of maybe. Adrenaline junkies jonesing for adolescent days when the fear of a parent coming home unexpectedly or getting busted by a teacher was the biggest rush on the planet. And what more tantalizing place than public quarters? Perhaps helming a state or the country really isn’t such a great gig after all – and they just want to have a little fun, a little break in their complex day. Whatever sense of loss (and cowardly conscience) manifests in sending pictures of one’s junk from the congressional workout room to strangers online, perhaps using campaign donations to hide a baby and the baby’s mama, stating in all seriousness “I did not have sex with that woman;” or allowing a secret child born to you and the maid to accompany your family on vacation – has become frankly – boring to the rest of the country – and yet we can’t get enough. No disrespect to the families who are living hell intended.

Ahh…you pitiful souls: you’re sad, you’re bored, you were going through a hard time, you were “angry at the Republicans,” or you need rehab for whatever ails you – we get it. Most likely and bluntly put – you are simply a cowardly midlife arrogant jackass for whom the Net and specifically social networking enabled an opportunity to bring your jock into the country’s living room. Seriously. It's pathetic, surely there's a pill for it and I hope you find it. If not, perhaps being indicted will cure your ills. An indictment would make me feel better about having had your "package" find its way into my home or endure my fifteen year old son having thrown at me "it's not like I pulled a Weiner's weiner" when I chastised him for not getting his clothes off the floor.

Likewise interesting are the women forced to make a choice to leave or to stand by their men once the skeezy broad involved in the indiscretion notifies the press she’s got salacious texts or emails and mirror shots of a public figure’s bits. Ironically, Ms. Wynette’s No. 1 hit was selected by the Library of Congress as an addition to the National Recording Registry as a tune of cultural, historical and/or aesthetical significance in 2010 – the same year Mr. Weiner married his wife at a ceremony officiated by former president Bill Clinton. Mr. Weiner’s wife is chief aide to Secretary of State Hillary and is assuredly receiving good advice as to how one must handle the sex or “not sex” one’s husband is having with other women. It’s all a little too close and creepy for comfort.

Whatever the fallout of Mr. Wiener’s junk shots: whether he’s indicted, whether his pregnant wife of approximately eleven months stands by her man (because as the song goes, “he’s just a man” so on and so forth), whether Gloria Allred comes to the aid of the skeezy broads involved, one thing is certain: America’s preoccupation with the sex other people are having will assuredly continue. Ain’t life grand!

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