It’s a foregone conclusion that Anthony Weiner will do time in federal prison for sexting a piece of Carolina jailbait. This is a blatant case of politically driven prosecutorial overreach leading to a miscarriage of justice and the wrongful delivery of yet another human sacrifice into the maw of our grotesque carceral state. As American miscarriages of justice go, Weiner’s is minor, almost pedestrian, but when a former member of the US House of Representatives who’s married (in some fashion or other; like I have the energy to follow that seedy soap opera from day to day) to a high-ranking aide to a major-party presidential candidate gets sucked into the criminal justice buzzsaw over one of his pitiful electronic flashing incidents, none of us should feel safe from that awful machine.
Weiner was apparently subjected to a tacitly selective prosecution on account of his marriage to Huma Abedin, but his high profile should not assuage our fear of prosecutorial overreach as obscure private citizens who aren’t married to Washington bigshots. Basically, we’re talking about a petty, completely peaceable sexual pervert who is being subjected to the full crushing force of the federal gulag because he happens to be domestically involved with a high-level assistant to a bigtime political crook. He didn’t get into trouble because of what he did; he got into trouble because his electronic trail crossed paths with the electronic trails of people close to him who were running a completely separate, much more destructive criminal enterprise and his electronic devices were swept up in federal raids targeting serious criminality for which he has not been charged and of which he appears completely innocent. That the original targets of the investigation (especially Hillary Clinton) have not been charged just adds insult to injury, since there’s an actual public interest in bringing them to justice but the only party to face criminal charges is a tangential one who was too hapless to cover his own tracks or successfully outmaneuver the feds.
It’s the Starr Report all over again, but with hard time. This is nothing to celebrate. It’s something to fear. It’s a threat to liberty and equity, something to demand be put to a definitive end.
It’s praxis to make fun of smooth public perverts by way of pancaking their elaborate public relations operations into a pile of smoldering rubble. This is why one should be proud to refer to Coach by worthy epithets such as Denny Dundiddly (with or without the leading J., to taste–which absolutely is not why we’re here), Diddlin’ Dennis, or the Inadvertent Minnesotan, and, in the Happy Valley context, to extend to any Nittany Lion apologist one’s sincere hope that the grope and the perv of our Lord’s Servant Gerald be with you always. WE ARE–PEDO BEAR! It would be great fun, for that matter, to orchestrate a cover of “Cherish” by the Association with Jerry Sandusky, Jimmy Savile, and Graham Spanier forming an A Capella chorus and the bells rhythmically chiming in from Joe Paterno’s open casket; the only reason I’ve never produced an animated cartoon to this effect is my own technical ineptitude as a draftsman and an audiovisual producer. (I’m on the fence as to whether I’d like Bill Cosby to round out this trio into a foursome; I’m not sure that he’s quite weird enough.)
But these guys are seriously dangerous. Anthony Weiner is not. Exposing him is superfluous. Before he got into legal trouble for going to Carolina in his pants, he was notorious as the freak with the unsolicited dick pics. The mention of his name elicited reactions of, oh God, not that creep again. Now that he’s pleaded guilty to minor internet perv and entered into a binding agreement not to appeal sentences running to a couple of years, even with maximum time off for good behavior, he’s still the loser with all the dick pics. He’s been getting called out and ridiculed for this shit for years.
Besides, Weiner dindu nuffin like Denny Dundiddly dun. Yes, that’s a complete sentence. If you think that was excruciating, try one that you have to serve at the BOP. Hastert managed not only to serially abuse boys who were under his authority as their public high school teacher and wrestling coach, but to intimidate them into silence for decades after the fact while he ascended to Speaker of the House. That whole situation was way the hell worse than anything Anthony Weiner shambolically achieved. We had a witness-intimidating sexual predator passing for normal so successfully that he became third in succession to the presidency, and his victims apparently didn’t even use confidential back channels to blow the whistle on him. The only reason he was exposed, very belatedly, was that one of his victims shook him down privately in a manner that cornered him into getting tripped up by arcane, draconian banking laws and then lying to FBI agents about what he’d done. The original conduct in the Sandusky scandal was even worse, although Sandusky’s victims and their parents behaved more responsibly than Hastert’s did, and one parent nearly got him to confess in a wire sting arranged by the Pennsylvania State Police years before he was finally arrested. The things Bill Cosby is accused of doing are vile, notwithstanding possible shortcomings in the credibility of his accusers.
All of these guys make Anthony Weiner look like a village idiot. One wonders how he ever had the acumen and the self-control to be elected to Congress. He comes across like he’d get tripped up running to be a town selectman. But as I’ve always maintained around here, low-functioning pests are vastly preferable to high-functioning ones. Weiner isn’t even a proper psychopath; Diddlin’ Dennis, Our Lord’s Servant Gerald, and Lord Pound Cake may be real psychopaths, but Weiner can hardly maintain frame for two minutes. He’s transparently dysfunctional and impulsive, so as embarrassing as his public self-service may be, when we elect him, we at least know what we’ve elected. A shlemiel like him keeps his constituents on guard. A smooth operator like Dennis Hastert is able to con the unwitting for decades and make a killing at public expense until suddenly, don’tcha know, he has to go north for a spell because it turns out that it was all a big hideous Winesburg LARP.
The big furor over Weiner’s downfall, of course, is that he sexted a minor. The implication here is that he is some horrific, unconscionable threat to the innocence of children. This is frankly as laughable as it is arbitrary and draconian. We’re talking about an adolescent victim, and most likely a rather precocious one. She was out on the internet chatting with strange men. Gross shit happens in chat rooms, but most of it isn’t enduringly harmful, and only a fool wouldn’t adopt viable reaction and coping mechanisms. If a fifteen-year-old of normal intelligence can’t figure out how to get up and walk away from gross shit on the internet, the girl’s got problems. By her mid-teens, an adolescent should be able to turn somewhere or to someone to get away from bad virtual situations. This is really pretty basic stuff. It applies to dudes, too, of course. There is gross shit on the internet. If you give someone unknown or untrustworthy your phone number, there may be yucky stuff on your phone, too. This is why parents and whoever else is mentoring a young person should teach and model ways to react to the yuck by getting away from it. If some loser is jacking off in front of the YMCA (it’s fun to stay there!), cross the street. If you see dogshit on the street, don’t go step on it, and if you do, find a more or less sanitary way to wipe it off. Or to shake it off, but they don’t raise them to be that mature in Wyomissing.
The truth is, the internet is a safe space for pig poop balls. So is any barnyard. I have reasons for working with plants. Chatting with strangers on the internet can result in unsolicited junk shots. Or, for Cousin Gigolo’s mother, it can result in moving to Florida in one’s forties to shack up with a distaff AOL chat pal (possible evidence of butch lesbianism), then ending up with $5.90 in one’s checking account and calling my mother in Pennsylvania with a sob story (evidence of mutual white trash-yuppie discord for which any lesbianism is merely the unpopped cherry on top). On the internet, we’re all grown-ups, although hardly any of us act it. Ooh, I just said “hardly!” I’m getting a raging clue, boy! The whole joint is a virtual Bowery, and everyone who has a lick of sense knows that there’s some heavy shit on Skid Row. At least it’s just virtual; whatever horrors one sees there can be put out of sight by fleeing back into the real world.
I assume a certain lack of chaos and danger in meatspace here, so your mileage may vary, but there’s probably something to be gained by not holing up on the damn web. Conversely, for people from really awful real-life environments, there may be much to be gained by fleeing TO the web. Regardless, a kid ought to learn how to put yucky stuff aside in the virtual stacks in preparation for when she starts using the internet to search for pornography. Yes, or he. I’d use the gender-neutral “shit,” but I don’t care to let my antecedents go totally AWOL. Let’s be honest: as with every other new communications technology, the internet’s early adopters were heavy on smut peddlers, and there’s an enduring demand for that crap. There’s shit you wouldn’t want to read in the library, too, and not all of it is sexually explicit. *Commanding Russell Williams Voice* What do you mean, “naked,” soldier? Look at this photograph; every time, you’ll see I’m wearing clothes. Specifically, smallclothes.
See? You went on the internet, and that just popped up over your transom. I #CommunicateToCreate #CanadianContent again. A Southern man don’t need any of them around, anyhow. Millington, they’re throwing furniture again. Do you copy? They’re all throwing furniture.
There’s certainly a possibility that our Carolina jailbait friend and her family are motioning the table. There are credible enough allegations circulating that this fifteen-year-old was used by her high-power Republican family as a honeypot to trap the Big Weiner. Yes, these are conspiracy theories, but not all conspiracy theories are nonsense. This kind of thing is all too plausible; just look at the Trumps. Some aristocratic families groom their children for the family business starting when they’re toddlers; that’s definitely the done thing in many wealthy parts of the South. The real defense that this brat has against assertions of her own moral responsibility, then, isn’t that she’s a minor per se, but that she’s the minor dependent of a sort of crime family. Archer isn’t just fiction; it’s also ethnography.
No, I won’t jump on the bandwagon to defend the Christian womanhood of wealthy white Southerners, or that of Betty Shelby. It ain’t me, Lawd.
At least the all-you-can-eat Weiner buffet has gotten Jeffrey Toobin to smirk uncontrollably at double entendres on CNN. That’s appropriate for any overeducated writer of true-crime potboilers. No one would give a shit about him if he merely practiced his beloved law. Dude makes his living in the gutter, so it’s only right that he’s caught wandering around snickering and covered in filth from time to time. I initially composed that as “only write,” so I’m not all present and accounted for myself. Just because counsel is entertaining and informative doesn’t mean that he’s also reputable. After all, why would I expect a man of good repute to tell me all about Kato Kaelin and his McGrilled chicken sandwich deal?
I came across some crap I was hoping not to see while scouring the meme mines for that (let me tell you about my trauma!), so you’d better enjoy it. The abyss has already gazed back into me today; y’all are up next.