A fucking steamroller, indeed.
Did (soon-to-be-former) New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer forget what year this is? I mean, seriously.
The days of the Secret Service sneaking Marilyn Monroe into JFK’s hotel room are long gone. Even when the object of the politician’s affections is already in the building, the odds of getting caught are still way too high. Ask Bill Clinton.
And it’s not just politicians. The days of married athletes being open about sleeping around are long gone, too. The press used to ignore the exploits of Babe Ruth and Mickey Mantle. Ask Alex Rodriguez if that policy’s still in effect.
In the year 2008, a cell phone with a camera makes you a journalist. Whether you think this is a good thing or not, it’s fact.
Back to our friend, Eliot: You’re the governor of New York State, and you call and order up a prostitute? Are you kidding me?
And not just any prostitute: Client-9 (NO relation to 9nine9), as Mr. Steamroller was referred to, has expensive taste. The establishment he conducted the transaction with, the Emperors Club, apparently has some talent on its roster that goes for $5,500 per hour.
I really try to keep my blog clean, save for the occasional F-bomb. But my mind is red-lining while trying to figure out exactly what you get for $5,500 per hour. I’ll stop now before I get myself in trouble.
I feel bad for Spitzer’s wife, although the thought that she’ll probably never have to work another day in her life definitely cushions the blow (pun intended). But their three daughters — I can’t even begin to think about what they’ll go through. They are the tragic figures in this story.
Spitzer said he acted “in a way that violates my obligations to my family, that violates my or any sense of right and wrong.”
Gee … ya THINK?