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Lust in his heart is downfall
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Remember those words uttered by Jimmy Carter lo those many years ago when he admitted to feeling “lust in his heart?” Can’t recall if it was some chick ridin’ a tractor wearing a Mr. Peanut T-shirt or not, but hey, at least he admitted it.

Then there was Bill “Rico Swa-vey” Clinton, trying not to admit his playing Twister with Monica Whatserface. She even had the dress to prove it. I wonder — did she ever get that dress back? I mean, I think she got it at Talbots, so you know it didn’t come cheap. Actually, she wasn’t really a Talbots kinda gal. I think she was more of the Burlington Coat Factory ilk.

I can hear Private Gomer Pyle right now, saying as he turns a little red in the cheeks, “Cheap is as cheap does!”

And then comes along some other little bad boys in government who don’t have girlfriends, per se, but rather a few boy pals here and there. Again with the Clintonism, “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

Now we have Governor Spitzer on the spit, roasting like a young baby pig over the hot burning coals of some call girl. Tsk, tsk.

He ain’t tellin’, he ain’t fessin’ up, he’s just apologizing. For what, who knows.

He didn’t quite get caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but he was sure reaching out for some of them goodies!

I imagine that he’s gonna turn into one of those igmos that show up on MSNBC’s “To Catch a Predator” and start twisting his fingers around as Chris Hansen grills him, “Why did you show up at this prostitute’s hotel room, Governor?”

“I ... uh ... I was coming here to mentor her. To explain how wrong her way of life is and how detrimental prostitution is to our society.”

Golly, Sergeant Carter, that feller sure uses some big words, don’t he?

“Well, Governor, if you were merely coming here to educate her, why would you need to bring that duffle bag along? What’s in it?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just a copy of the Declaration of Independence and a Bible.”

“I see. Mind if I unzip it and have a look?”

“Well, I’d really rather you didn’t.”

“If its what you say it is, Governor, then let’s have a look and help you save face, OK?”

Ol’ Governor Spitzer meekly hands over the duffel bag.

“Governor, what’s the Mike’s Hard Lemonade all about? And what about these two Bacardi Breezers?”

“Oh  ...well ... I just ... I picked those up because I was going to stop at the beach on my way home this afternoon. I thought they might be refreshing while I contemplated how I saved this girl’s soul from wretched ruin.”

“I see. So, not only were you coming here to visit a prostitute, but you were going to be drinking and driving later in the day, is that it?”

“No, certainly not. I would have gotten a hotel room on the beach.”

“To share with the prostitute?”


“So, Governor, how do you explain these multi-colored prophylactics? Do you normally carry items like these in your duffle bag?”

“Yes, normally I do. My wife likes a little variety every now and then.”

“Of course she does, sir. They all do. Now, how do you explain the fact that there is no copy of the Declaration of Independence or a Bible in this duffle bag? You have booze and condoms, and little else, sir. Tell the truth. You came here with ... what’s this?”

Hansen pulls out a bundle of cash.

“Fifty-five hundred dollars, sir? What’s with the cash? Plan on buying a Sea-Doo while you’re at the beach this afternoon?”

Governor Spitzer sits on the barstool in the ritzy hotel room and stares woefully down at the floor.

Hansen leans over and tips the Governor’s chin up with his finger and whispers softly, “Governor been bad boy. Governor goin’ bye-bye.”

Don’t worry folks. He’s not gone for long.

He’ll be throwing his hat in the race for president next month. Hillary will make a good advisor. She ain’t holdin’ on to that little blue dress for nothing!