Okay. Maybe he isn’t smiling. Maybe he’s at the top half of a tennis serve. Maybe he’s passing a kidney stone. Maybe he’s just been linked to a big expensive prostitution ring and he is sad and humble. Yes, Spitzer sounded sad and humble, didn’t he?
I’ve read and heard the big rumble from Hillary voters and other pundits that people will run with this as a way to dredge up Monigate ghosts. Of course, they will, even though this is a radically different situation from Bill’s. Bill didn’t pay for it, he just let an intern flap her thong strings at him. Any Impeachmantango worth his salt at the time would tell you in all seriousness that the Starr investigation wasn’t even about sex. But, look. Spitzer or no Spitzer, Monigate would still surely become a spectre in the case of a Clinton nomination. The big elephant in the middle of the room would eventually come to wear a splotched blue dress, whether spurred by Spitzer or by the little red demons standing on each of John Weirdsmile’s hunched shoulders.
I think my favorite part about the Spitzer story, besides the aforementioned photograph, is that he paid ahead for it. That’s right. Elliot Spitzer, Governor of New York, put ass on layaway. It does not get any stankier than that.
Meanwhile, filed under “we begin bombing in five minutes”: Adm. William J. Fallon has resigned.