Masturgate

Unless you've totally disconnected yourself from news of the outside world, you're aware by now of the latest Washington scandal du jour.

One thing I've always hated in the post-Watergate era is the press' uncreativity in naming new outrages and scandals-- with the possible exception of ABSCAM, nearly every political mess since 1974 has had "-gate" appended to it. C'mon guys-- you're supposed to be writers. Display some imagination, willya?

But as I trolled for news of this latest fiasco for the Grand Old Perverts, I ran across a clever appellation to describe the Foley scandal: Masturgate. The brilliance of this simplicity... "Masturgate" it is.

What seems like an eon ago, we as a nation were forced to endure, thanks to Kenneth Starr and his henchmen, nauseating details about creative uses for cigars, and a host of citizens who were previously unaware learned that "thongs" are not a formal name for flip-flops, but something you'd shop for at Victoria's Secret. My lifelong Republican grandmother began her journey towards the political center around this time-- she confided to me the whole thing was "pretty nauseating," and not something a Midwestern farm girl at heart needed to know.

Again, I think most of the nation is collectively nauseated-- this time by the revelations surrounding Mark Foley's inappropriate behavior. Wisely, Foley resigned. Unwisely, the Perverts decided to try to sweep everything under the rug. By now, any politician worth his salt should know it's not the crime, it's the cover-up. For example, Smirk brazenly admitted he broke the law by flouting FISA-- he said it on NATIONAL television that he was operating a "secret" wiretapping program. So far, legislation was until recently on track to retroactively approve Smirk's illegal activities. Had he instead tried to cover it up, I imagine impeachment proceedings would be on the agenda instead (and they should be anyway, but that's not my point).

So when it came to light that Mark Foley was actively IM'ing Congressional pages and inquiring as to their private habits, their anatomical gifts (or lack thereof), and whether they might be interested in *ahem* going out for ice cream (to be followed by creative exploration of "cherries" and "whipped cream" (my bad)), what did the House leadership do?

Deny, deny, deny. (Notice this is one letter removed from "Denny, Denny, Denny." Concidence? You decide.)

When it came to light that the same House leadership knew in advance that Foley had a little problem with keeping his eyes and thoughts from straying, what did the House leadership do?

Deny, deny, deny.

When it became even clearer that there were a host of questions about how *long* Hastert and crew have known of this little "problem" and that it was turning off the country, as well as their "base," did these gentlemen do the right thing and cry, "mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa"? (You'd think they'd have learned something from watching how badly the Catholic Church has been handling this for the past several years.)

No, no, no. (You can tell I was raised on MAD magazine-- all those helpful primers!)

Instead of making this big, bad mess go away, what do we have?

We have MASTURGATE.

You think we can get Kenneth Starr to take sabbatical from Pepperdine and write a sequel to the Starr Report?

To be continued on the 6 o'clock news and in porn shops everywhere (pending XXX title, to be released: "The Foley Artist: Congressional Sound Effects")...