Rep. Weiner twittered his WHAT?!!

 

By A. Daniel Bodine

desertmountaintimes.com

Hee, hee! This is crazy folks. Yes, we've all done stupid things before, right?. When on the make! Remember? What else can you say? Something in your painful loneliness that cries out for a live body next to you makes 'ya do stupid things, ok? That's the long and short of it, right? Hee, hee. It's called taking leave of your senses. Some people more than others, however. Oh, those pockmarks of history!

U.S. Rep.Anthony Weiner (D, NY) [ I was sure this guy was a Republican; playin' this puny cybersex ain't like a Democrat at all!] took leave of his senses, too. He finally admitted it in a public apology Monday, 10 days into what the media has dubbed, Weinergate. (Holy cow, someone please kill the suspense for me. I watch very little TV; my Deutsche is rusty. Tell me how he pronounces his name. Is he a Winer? Or a Weener? Holy baloney at Trail's End Rush!)

One of the key woman in all this had already agreed to go public, apparently. ABC News obtained and aired Monday some of the videos and messages the congressman had sent her via Twitter and Facebook.

Among them, according to a story in Slate's online magazine entitled Meetless Weiner (po-leeze, somebody, tell me how to pronounce that name; I know damn well he's no vegetarian! Never trust a headline writer with a story like this!) posted Tuesday, there were photos of “his bare chest and thinly clothed erection.” At the press conference Monday one of the reporters even dared to describe his thin, gray briefs as “panties.”

Collectively the notes and photos, indeed, clearly show a man seeking some kind of out-of-wedlock attention. In a lavish ceremony on Long Island last summer former President Bill Clinton, ironically himself dogged by an extramarital affair while in office, married Weiner, who is Jewish, to his glamorous girlfriend, Huma Abedin, 34, a Muslim. She is an aide to U. S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, and reportedly with her beauty and professionalism had been drawing much media attention on her own.

What happened? The Jewish-Muslim culture thing? I doubt it. Weiner obviously is proud of his body, first of all; maybe even is in love with it. No doubt he pumps iron. And often. And maybe that's the tip.

With his wife out of town often on U.S. State Department jaunts, Weiner found himself too “supercharged.” Huh? And found cyberspace a bad outlet to vent it. Now he faces having caused what Hendrik Hertzberg at the New Yorker calls "the first entirely virtual political sex scandal, the first to have been conducted entirely via e-mail, and online social media."

Loneliness and sex has always been a bad, combustible situation. Once in the Navy stationed at San Francisco, attending electronics school at Treasure Island, a group of us had been out bar-hopping one Friday night I remember; and were making that long, lonely trek back to the downtown bus station to catch a ride back out to TI. There was an all-night cafeteria a few blocks from the bus station and we'd stopped in there to eat before before boarding the bus.

We were sitting together in a booth (I had an outside position), when I noticed her 2-3 booths down. Actually I noticed the legs, long and sleek, radiant they were; protruding as they were out in the aisle, black, high-heel shoes pointing toward me. This was late '67; San Fran was out front in publicity when the micro-mini's craze struck the nation. Nice, it was; she was nice, in her radiant micro outfit.

My stare followed the legs up to her face, and oh-my-gosh there she was—staring right at me, that coy smile on her face; oh so pretty, she was. And then she waved at me. Hah, I've caught one! her eyes said. So playful, she seemed.

Embarrassed at being caught staring, I quickly glanced back at my plate of food I was eating. Never once nudged the guy next to me about the find, however. I was rock-solid locked away in my thoughts--selfish, it was, yes!--in the potential of just what might play out that night. Whoooeee!

The next minute or so was pure torture for me though. I couldn't help from looking up frequently, of course. At first the legs. Then the face. And that coy smile. And the mesmerizingly slow, waving hand.

This isn't exactly right, I slowly began to think. Another feeling, a defensive one, had eased into my conscious. Playing with you, boy; outright taunting you, she is. Waddaya goin' to do about it, Ol' Bo?!

Break, break! Stop this! I could only think. Like a swimmer out in water that's too deep, I was. Instinctively I thought of the restroom. Need to git in there!

I muttered where is it to my friends; and someone pointed ahead of us a ways, and around the corner. Gulp. I had to walk past her table.

I got up and tried my damndest not to look at her when I walked by. But it was too much. She flicked that hand in a slight wave and I glanced down. There was that smile, that Oh, when are you gonna come get me, Sailor Boy? invite.

I fixed my eyes back ahead and continued to the restroom. We gotta git out of here, I was thinking while standing at the urinal. This ain't right; something's about it just ain't right!

Then I heard the door open; heard high heels clicking sharply, coming up on my left. One of those moments when a cold hand literally squeezes your heart. I turned. And, indeed, froze.

She walked abruptly right up to the wall urinal next to me, dug into his panties in an exaggerated motion and plopped it out. And began urinating. Yep. And laughed. Most frightening, raucously loud, shrieking laugh I know I'd ever heard.

And I turned and ran. Out of fear. Ran out of there. With the laughter screaming now in the background like a soiled, wet blanket around me. I'd been had. Big time!

Continuing on to the hysterical shrieking at the table where they were also, that greeted me as I ran by; one of them even standing now, welcoming me with her own arms as I ran by. Laugh, laugh, laugh.

My friends were all staring at me as I raced up to the table, of course.

What the hell's going on? their looks asked.

Let's get outta here! I said. Come on!

And I bolted for the door. Maybe a block later I slowed down for them to catch up to me. Then I told the story of the transvestite. Of that scene at the urinal. And of course they never stopped laughing at me either, 'til we were back on base.

Lucky for me I was just considered an ol' red-blooded American boy for all of that. Played for a fool. Weiner's got a much tougher situation. The House Ethics Commission is certain to investigate it—for use of taxpayer dollars, for one. And calls for his resignation are rising.

Meanwhile, he's got a wife back home no doubt wondering what kind of idiot did I marry?

You married a good one, we can all say. Smiling, of course. A real good idiot.

Hee, hee.

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