The Eliot Spitzer thing has been done to death just about everywhere, and I take every bit as much glee in seeing the hypocritical bastard get his just desserts as the next guy. As I plowed through the endless torrent of media coverage on the scandal, I came across this piece in the NY Times. See if anything jumps out at you in the first sentence of the article.
Many a man stared at Gov. Eliot Spitzer’s news conference on Monday and thought, “There but for the grace of God go I.”
I’m not a governor and I’m not married, so if I decided to pay $5500 an hour to have sex with this woman, I seriously doubt there would be a televised news conference if I got caught. I would also like to think that I have some level of control over whether or not I shell out five grand for sex.
Is this like the gun deciding to fire itself and kill innocent people? Did Eliot Spitzer’s penis just wake up, decide to go to the ATM, call the escort, arrange the meetings, and then drag its unwilling host across town for a bit of tawdry commerce?