Marky Mark Sanford: Bad Vibrations

Mark, Mark, Mark…you ASS.

*sigh*

I was pretty impressed when we met at The Heritage Classic a few years ago. You were cordial and took a few minutes to actually talk to me instead of just shaking hands and walking on. I’ve supported you. I’ve voted for you. I was looking forward to you seeking the nomination for President in 2012.

Now? You’re just an ass.

Ya’ll had me fooled. I was willing to believe that you were actually off hiking along the App-Trail to clear your head after a tough legislative session, like your wife and spokespeople said. I was willing to even overlook the no phone calls and no contact with your family on Father’s Day; hell, it was your day so you were spending it out in the woods, right?

When everyone was doing the Chicken Little and panicking because you were incommunicado and left no clear transfer of gubernatorial powers to Andre Bauer, I was still behind you. They were just being alarmist, said I. When the aforementioned Poultry People cried about “What if there was a hurricane or a terrorist attack? Who would call out the National Guard?”, I scoffed. A hurricane would give us a week’s warning at the very least; they don’t pop up over Charleston harbor like an afternoon thunderboomer. If we were attacked, Bauer and the Adjutant General could begin the recalls and sort it out later; better safe than sorry, right?

And now we find out that you skipped country for a piece of ass? Dude….that’s just foul. It’s one thing to go underground for a couple days to chill in the woods, hike a bit, and if the crapple hits the fan blades, we can at least get to you in a couple hours……but to skip country, nay, skip continents, to shag up on a long-term booty-call is just bullshit.


You were a potential front-runner to seek the Presidency. Now, you’ll be lucky to get appointed third-shift grocery bagger or apprentice dog-catcher in this state. On the plus side, at least you didn’t knock up some chick while your wife was dying; John “$400 Haircuts” Edwards has that dubious distinction. You didn’t shag a hooker in your black dress socks after making a name for yourself busting prostitution rings. That was Spitzer. You went to her country, so you didn’t diddle her with a cigar at the State House in Columbia like Bubba Clinton.

In a word, Mark……FAIL.

Collossal, magnitude 10, complete and utter EPIC FAIL.

I love me some Schadenfruede

My dear readers, I am a guilty man. I am guilty of what the Germans call Schadenfreude. The word has no direct translational equivalent in English, but the best way to describe it is taking pleasure in the misfortune of others. So yes, I am guilty. I often take perverse glee in other people’s misery, but I‘m not a total cad; there’s a caveat to my glee. I only take pleasure when the high and mighty, the privileged, the people who look down their noses at us poor working class slobs fall on their faces. And I’ll admit that it’s especially amusing when the fallen is exposed as a hypocrite.

Which brings us to our latest fallen Great Man, Elliot Spitzer. As the Attorney General for the State of New York, Spitzer was a force to be reckoned with, a one-man crusade against unethical behavior and vice. He took on corruption on Wall Street, and prosecuted a couple of very high-profile prostitution rings. And then he went on to become the Governor of New York.

So imagine my reaction this week when Spitzer was brought down by revelations that he was implicated as a customer for a very expensive prostitution ring known as The Emperor’s Club. The hookers from the Emperor’s Club are in several cities nationwide and are rated on a 3-7 Diamond scale, with a 7-Diamond “escort” going for up to $5500.00 an hour. It’s reported that Spitzer has been buying hookers for anywhere from six to ten years, and has spent upwards of $80,000.00 on prostitutes.

Needless to say, I laughed till I cried.

However, I’m left a tad perplexed.

I’ve been around the block a couple times, and I’ve bounced this off a few of my male friends too just to see if I’m wrong, but I have yet to find the sexual encounter that was worth FIFTY FIVE HUNDRED BUCKS for an hour’s worth of action. I’m sorry, ladies. I’m sure ya’ll think it’s made of gold & what not, but that’s over 91 dollars a minute, and I’m sure that hour’s worth of time was not 60 full minutes of non-stop sex. Out of that 60 minutes, possibly 20-30 minutes might have been sexual, but the other 30-40 were spent with drinks and getting comfortable.

I really don’t think the act has been invented yet that I’d pay 5500 bucks an hour for. I’m sorry. I hate to say it. You could bring me the Pope, two Korean midgets, a talking donkey, and the Swedish Bikini Team, throw in a Cleveland Steamer, and I’m still not dropping 5500 bucks on it. That’s insane.

Oh wait….Spitzer bargained the price down to something like $3400.00 an hour, I think. It was something like that, less than the standard going rate. But still…..I have yet to find anything I’d pay 3400 clams for either.

So yeah, I’m guilty of Schadenfruede. But I’d rather be guilty of schadenfreude than be guilty of being a salacious hypocritical turd.