Pardon me while I go throw up.
I’ve had an overdose of Rush Limbaugh, Donald Rumsfeld and Kobe Bryant this week.
If that trio can’t nauseate you, nothing will.
Limbaugh, drying out, supposedly says he used drugs because of the climate created by Bill Clinton, and the Archie Bunkers who listen to him will buy that. There always has to be an explanation when guys with big reputations and egos get in trouble.
Prime examples are William Bennett, the author of The Book of Virtues and former secretary of education who controlled learning policies for your kids and mine, and turned out to be a compulsive gambler; Rumsfeld, the secretary of defense who sends your kids and mine to languish in Iraq as targets while smiling that death head’s grin of his, now with a new title as Ambassador of Arrogance; Kobe Bryant, whose raging hormones led him to a hotel room tryst with a 19-year-old just 24 hours after leaving his adorable and adoring creampuff of a wife.
In the case of Limbaugh, even the most gullible of his ardent followers must find it hard to believe that a grown man who gets national air time would have the chutzpah to blame his weaknesses and foibles and shortcomings on a political climate. It’s like a guy of 40 saying he was a habitual liar because he grew up when Richard Nixon was president.
As for Rumsfeld, he characterizes the epitome of what has become an administration of arrogance in Washington. The Republican chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee, John Warner, sends him a letter protesting actions in Iraq, and Rumsfeld says he never got it, that "it may be somewhere around the building." That takes big ones, even for a bloated ego who adds an element of scariness to his press conferences by ignoring pertinent questions, either by grinning demonically or by accusing the questioner of ignorance.
Bryant, of course, got a roaring vote of confidence from his forgiving fans when he returned to the court ”” the basketball court, not a court of justice.
Here’s a guy who has everything ”” all the money in the western world, a gorgeous wife and home, an endless career ahead of him in his twenties ”” and he can’t resist the urge for a romp with a starstruck desk clerk who may or may not have had problems. The real question is who has the bigger problem.
Bryant picked the right defense attorney, one of those female tigresses who would eat her own cubs. When this trial is over, expect to see Kobe’s attorney subbing on the Larry King show. She has the same killer instincts as all those blonde ex-prosecuting attorneys who suddenly show up on TV. I never knew there were so many savage blondes with law degrees, but they turn up in droves, and as a breed are as scary as any women alive.
The one defending Kobe Bryant has started something new. Rape in this country may become a thing of the past, given the "check their panties" defense. If a man cannot possibly have raped a woman because she had sexual relations with another man, then half the female population of Las Vegas is at risk. The new standard for rape will not be forcible entry, but was the victim a virgin.
Wait until they get the kid from Colorado in court.
It is 400 years since William Congreve wrote, "Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."
Congreve was wrong. Just wait until Kobe Bryant’s attorney gets to the young plaintiff in this case. You’ll see what hell’s fury really is like when one woman with a law degree turns on another without one. It will have all the loveliness of Wild Kingdom, with a lioness killing a young antelope, and the cameras and hordes of writers and talkers right there to bring it all to you, drop by bloody drop, with the hyenas closing in after the kill to devour what’s left of the body.