Keep the pecker in the pants – or hire a bodyguard. That’s the moral of this Washington tale.
We begin with an Ode to the Imperiled Penis by one of our favorite wags, Vanity Fair editor James Wolcott
“You know, a penis is more than a phallic symbol made flesh,” rhapsodizes Wolcott. “It’s a warm, life-sized attachment that serves a number of utilitarian purposes, too, and over time develops its own wry personality and quirks, or so it can seem to its owner.
“Hence I suspect a lot of men will wince in sympathy at the prospect of the firm yet tender bond between Senator David Vitter and his penis being rudely severed by his vengeful wife. Nothing sends a shudder through the locker room faster than the bladed gleam of castration.”
Thus begins Wolcott’s hilarious meditation on the latest vice scandal to rock the Republican side of the aisle in Washington. Of course you’ve heard by now of Louisiana Senator David Vitter, charter member of the Bedroom Police and Defender of Marriage from Homosexuals, who was caught with his pants down.
Everyone with a TV has seen his boyish, if somewhat overfed, carb-face mouthing meas-culpas after his name turned up in a D.C. madame’s phone log, as well as on the client list of several New Orleans’ joy girls. And you also saw his wife standing beside him, looking mildly insane, like a starey-eyed Allison Janney, in that honky-tonk what-the-fuck-was-she-thinking jungle-print dress (shouldn’t they both have been in sack and ashes?)
This was the same woman who during Clinton impeachment days volunteered to a reporter that if her husband ever did what Bill did, she would go all Lorena Bobbit on him. (No we’re not making this up. That’s how these Concerned Women for Theocracy think about things):
“I’m a lot more like Lorena Bobbitt than Hillary,” a smug Wendy Vitter had told Newhouse News, comparing herself to the notorious housewife who severed her husbands cheating johnson and then threw it to the dogs from a speeding car. “If he does something like that, I’m walking away with one thing, and it’s not alimony, trust me.”
Ah, but how the mighty have fallen. Now it was in her starring role as Christian Wife and Mother– with just a teeny hint of sleaze-ola (that jungle-print dress) to show all you judgmental bitches out there that she was still in the game — that she faced the TV audience at her husband’s press conference, speaking of forgiveness and marriage vows and how proud she was at this moment to be … Mrs… Norman… Maine — um, Vitter. (Sorry, got my Star is Born performances mixed up.)
Wolcott wasn’t having any of it , no matter how Judy On The Verge Of A Nervous Breakdown the playacting:
“Male solidarity would seem to dictate that I harbor some sympathy for Vitter and his endangered penis, despite his trespasses, but when I read in the ABC story, ‘Vitter quickly became the Louisiana delegation’s most conservative member — against abortion even in cases of rape and incest,’ I thought, Even a hypocrite needn’t be that backward and hateful. So cheers … and let the penises fall where they may.”
It’s endless fun watching Vitter having to dance around his own two-facedness. If Bill Clinton was unfit to lead the nation, why shouldn’t he resign for slutting it up with escorts while wallowing in his joy at seeing another person’s marital woes dragged through mud?
The answer: Because it’s always different for Conservatives. They just make “mistakes”. They can invoke God to erase their wrongdoings, make a half-hearted admission of guilt while simultaneously denying doing anything unwholesome, and use their doped-up wives and pathetic kids as backdrops for their tawdry dog and pony shows. They rest of us are morally bankrupt. Sure.
She’s just as much a hypocrite as he is. She and her ilk excoriate Hillary Clinton for sticking with her marriage, then she does exactly the same thing. It’s also lovely of her to lament the loss of her privacy while her party does all it can to force its way into other people’s bedrooms and lives. Gotta get those monogamous gays and liberal traitors who don’t let an invisible giant in the sky govern their every move, though. They’re the problem. Unlike the hollow hypocrites who have their cake and demonize everyone else under a banner of righteousness.
And take a memo Wendy, you wussy bitch: When your husband throws himself on his sword for screwing high-class hookers, you don’t wear leopard print. At least the call girls have better taste…and unlike you aren’t pretentious about admitting that they’re accomodating whores for your dipwad husband.