Penal Servitude

Let me get this straight.

The curtain goes up on a limp Bill Clinton after one of his Liaisons Dangereuses. He is pondering how his childhood, with a stepfather who abused his mother, somehow accounts for our most libidinous president since his model, JFK. Neither can keep his pecker in his pants but Bill gets caught in his own Bay of Pigs. Hillary sort of forgives him his zipper. Instead she lashes out at the bimbos, knowing where her future bread is buttered.

Enter Congressman Weiner who is well-named and possibly well-endowed for all I know. He becomes a pathological exhibitionist more interested in being erected than elected. His wife, Huma, puts up with his virtual penis, not wanting to hit below the belt.

In this comic opera Huma is Hillary’s confidant. The two Good Wives could sing a duet. They thought a good man was hard to find but a hard man is even gooder until one day….. they un-envied the respective penises.

Enter Donald, the diva, stage right, who is fluent in Locker Room speak. Was he a sexual predator or are we to believe that he never said what he is said to have said? His habit of stiffing contractors may have extended further than that. He brings the House down with his aria of bragadocios in a falsetto voice. He is Don Juan in the gutter, three marriages of Figaro, taking cues from Wagner's Die Meistersinger. When Little Marco the Rubio questions his size Donald almost unzips. His phallic Tower is proof it’s not just another Babel even though he lives in a bubble. Any mud you can throw he can throw further.

Now Comey, the Lord High Executioner, in an orgy of dysfunction finds a little list of songs and snatches, of emails hacked and hatches of plots. All ejaculated from Weiner’s famous weiner. Hillary seethes. Donald blusters. Bill takes cover in his Foundation.

As the curtain goes down a chorus of 200 million aroused voices is heard, the cacophony of America, the grabbers, the groped, the gullible and misbegotten. Our fate lies with the genitalia of the former Congressman still stuck in his erogenous zone. Let us gird our loins.