The Patraeus Affair: Does it Really Matter?

Cast of characters

The David Petraeus narrative is coming out in dribs and drabs, all the better to make things look worse than they are and give the story long, long gams. Petrausgate is as strange, or stranger, than any other Washington “boy meets girl … boy beds girl … boy resigns … girl hides in an undisclosed location” story. Surprisingly, everyone is still working out the details of a story with more plot twists than the Da Vinci Code. They are just beginning to get to the rights and wrongs of the matter and as we all know, that’s when the sh*t will really hits the fan.

Despite the coming onslaught of, “God smiteth thou who cannot keep his pecker in his pants” admonishments, most Americans could probably care less the General had an affair. Heck, half of America is screwing around so they tend not to get too worked up over sexual indiscretions – unless they are televangelists coveting their neighbor’s wives. That’s as it should be. Morality is best left to the people exercising those morals. No one needs a squadron of Church Ladies to tell them they will burn in eternal fire because of something they did behind closed doors. Note to over-reaching religious zealots, if they will indeed burn in hell, it’s between them and Beelzebub. No more needs be said.

Although I usually follow the screw and let screw position, there are some differences between Petraeus and your average cad. For one, he’s the leader of America’s spy apparatus.

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You’re an Idiot

Hate mail postcard.

I got a Facebook message from someone I didn’t know the other day. Spam? A blog fan (hey, it happens)? Fan mail from some flounder? I clicked and saw three words, “You’re an idiot.”

Maybe being called an idiot by a total stranger isn’t a daily occurrence for you – unless you’re Mitt Romney. For me, it’s an avocational hazard as a blogger. In fact, “idiot” is one of the kinder things I’ve been called. All kinds of invective gets slung my way by an unending army of monkeys flinging flaming poop. I try to inflame passions when I write and sometimes it works. When it does, I’m never offended. I always take it as a badge of honor. It means I’ve done my job.

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