Pimpin’ ain’t easy…

When I heard Spitzer was mixed up with a prostitution ring, I hoped against hope that he was either pimpin’ or ho-ing, not just purchasing. You’d kind of like them to mix it up once in a while. I commend to your imagination the figure of Elliot Spitzer in an electric blue shirt unbuttoned to the waist, tight yellow bell-bottoms, a huge chinchilla coat and a purple velvet hat with a a huge wide brim and a white leopard-print band, waving a stick and clutching a jewel-encrusted pimp cup full of a nice Finger Lakes ice wine. Or maybe Manischewitz.
As for his future – who knows? That Republican guy who paid to be put in diapers is still in office, but that’s Louisiana, and I think the state of Edwin Edwards and Earl K. Long may have a greater tolerance for that sort of thing than New York, especially when Spitzer built his career on regularly taking a deuce on big-money Wall Street types. I have a sneaking suspicion that if he just digs in, he can hang on for a while, but he will be politically impotent the rest of the way and I don’t think the GOP machine in Albany will have any problem running over him like a tractor trailer hitting a rooster. Plus, I wouldn’t be surprised if Howard Dean puts a horse’s head in his bed to get out of the public eye before he gets stuff on the eventual nominee (I think the NY association probably hurts Clinton more than Obama).
Ah well. He already got Microsoft, and he wasn’t going to be anyone’s VP this time around, so I don’t have a vested interest. Like ML, though, I am astonished that his wife stands up there with him instead of sending him out there to face the guns while she takes shelter in an undisclosed location with her team of very good divorce lawyers.