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Weiner's Crotch

I would like to say that everyone is interested in sex, but that is not true.  Everyone is more-or-less interested ins sex.  Some more.  Some less.  Some hardly at all.  Some like Anthony Weiner.  


The cook on one of the first fishing boats I ever worked on, in Alaska, was an interesting man.  He had played violin in an orchestra that accompanied silent movies.  He threw out leftover food that could not be used for the next meal, instead of eating it, because he said he was not a human garbage can.  He used to smoke three packs of cigarettes a day, but quit on the day--in driving Seattle rain--when he could not wait to get into the house, but stopped on the walk to light a cigarette, and became drenched, because he could not wait.  


Anthony Weiner does not seem to understand that he has an addiction, too.  Even with a seat in Congress, he had--again and again--to stop halfway back to the House, and do what he could not help doing.  His crotch was more demanding than his brain.  


And he has a brain!  As a politician, he was a keen as laser.  He is articulate, passionate, and a joy to his constituents.  No matter!  He cannot help that his crotch compels him.


He has things he has to figure out.  He has to be honest with himself.  He has to understand that something makes him put common sense aside, and play with his sexual fantasies, instead.  So far, he seems not understand that.  


He as resigned from his seat in the House, not because he seems to comprehend the problem he has, but because he has to, from outside pressure.  


I hope he figures it out.
Politically, he is a talent.
Personally he is a wreck.  

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