In the midst of the feeding frenzy that’s surrounding the
walking dick joke Anthony Weiner story, along comes this research out of UCLA: Sexual desire, not hypersexuality, is related to neurophysiological responses elicited by sexual images. What those researchers found, essentially, is there is no such mental illness as “sexual addiction” and all the folks (usually men) that have been blaming their bad behavior on this “disease” can just stop it right now. You’re not an addict. You’re just a dick.
To his credit, Weiner never claimed to be a sexual addict, though there was some murmurings about him “seeking treatment” back when he was forced to resign from Congress two years ago. The same cannot be said of San Diego mayor Bob Filner, who seems to have made a political career out of being every woman’s worst nightmare. Filner made a tearful video plea for “help” recently.
Filner, who is 70 years old, has somehow managed to have a lengthy career in politics despite seeming to have behaved like a predator toward every woman he encountered. Thankfully, that career appears to be coming to an end.
But who knows? Maybe Filner will mount a comeback, as Weiner was attempting before this latest
fuck up imbroglio.
I was discussing the Weiner story with my sister last night on the phone. She’s coming up on her first wedding anniversary in August, so she and her husband are still sitting around making goo goo eyes at each other. I’ve been married ten years, so I sit around staring daggers at my husband for not unloading the dishwasher, and he looks at me trying to remember the last time I blew him (last month? No, two months ago, after I drank all that wine at dinner).
My sister can’t wrap her brain around why Weiner’s wife, Huma Abedin, would stay with a man who did a lot of dirty stuff that
Al Gore the people who invented the internet never imagined would be done with their technology. Or maybe they did imagine it. Has there been any technology ever invented that we didn’t immediately pervert? Someone figured out a charred bit of wood leaves a mark on the cave wall and the next person comes along and draws a picture of a woman with really big breasts. We learn how to make paper and bind it into books, and there’s the Kama Sutra. Someone (I’m not sure who. It’s complicated. Don’t count on this blog for your research on automotive history) invents the motorcar, and then we had the back seat. Moving pictures gave us dirty movies, and the Internet gave us Anthony Weiner texting pictures of his boner.
Despite being of the female persuasion and having written extensively on this blog about the dangers of posting nakie selfies on the interwebs, I felt a certain amount of sympathy for Weiner when he was caught the first time. Not for the dumb cover up he tried to perpetuate at first (“Someone hacked my Twitter account!”), but just for the fact that he had done something stupid that would probably cost him his career. As a wife, I would have been angry and embarrassed, but probably forgiven him for it.
The second time around, I just feel sad for both Weiner and his wife. He’s a dick, and she’s a woman who had a child with a guy who needs to validate himself by getting random women on the internet to tell him what a nice cock he has. Both of them have to wonder about their judgment.
Here are some posts Anthony Weiner should have read: