2006-10-10 - 4:29 p.m.
Oh, now, who isn’t laughing merrily at the travails of that Republican Senator who was caught sending cyber-sex e-mails to a 16 year old page? I’m sorry, it’s so foul that the only possible reaction is to snicker and chortle happily. As far as I’m concerned, the entire scandal just goes to show you – men are idiots. Seriously. I mean, there you are, the king of the world, so what do you do? You send sleazy e-mails to some 16 year old.
Really, it’s the most hilarious thing that I’ve ever seen or heard of. I love it! My favorite bits were when the little high school puppy explained how he was just getting back from some college interview or other – and the Congressman leeringly ordered him to strip down to his underwear and relax. For goodness sakes! I’m giggling right here at my little table at the Santa Monica Public Library just thinking about it. It’s the most delightful story ever, from my way of thinking.
It seems to me that there are two schools of thought as far as this story goes. The first is that the Congressional Page System is some kind of sacrosanct entity and the innocent babes who are members of it need to be protected and guarded by a troop of mother hens. The other, and this is far more the true story I fear, is that the Congressional Page System is really just the Congressmen’s Roving Whorehouse. And, really, what’s wrong with that? Handsome boys have been using their asses to get ahead in the world since time immemorial.
On the other hand, I have to say I am not entirely sorry that some ridiculous congressional page was forced to do the bidding of a decrepit, perverted, and jaundiced old perv of a Republican Congressman. After all, you know who all these Congressional Pages are, don’t you? They are the so-called best and the brightest of the US teenage community. Except they aren’t: They’re just the rich and the beautiful – the socially prominent skanks who rule the world with complacency and whom every normal person in the world must seethe with resentment any time they hear about them.
The PR machine insists that they are the best and the brightest, and, in fact, they are destined for the best and the brightest lives possible. Their connected parents will pull the strings to get them into the good colleges, will use their nepotistic karma to ensure that they get the very best jobs (without experience) above you, and will insure that they will be on top of you, no matter what you do. Their lives will be those of the Golden Child. Not because they are, in fact, Better or Brighter than you – but because daddy and mommy are better connected.
So it’s a darn good things if these sweet, pretty, tasty urchins, from their rich townhouses in Manhattan, their country palaces in the Hamptons, their gorgeous estates on Martha’s Vineyard, are, for a few minutes, forced to tell some hideous old troll about how they jerk themselves off by humping their beds. Let then know how some other folks who are not the best and the brightest have to deal with those who are more powerful than they are.
It is part of every gay man’s lessons in life, I think – and this is the big difference between the gay world and the straight world, really. In the gay world, guys using sexual charm to get ahead is fairly normative. Why, back in the day, during the rule of Gay King James I, all the court lobbyists used to hire hot boys to flirt with His Majesty because that was the only way to get attention paid to their matters. It is one of the saddest things in my life that no one ever asked me to have sex in exchange for a job. I think I would have instantly. But it never happened. I have gotten all my gigs based on pure talent. And this, I suppose, is why all the gigs sooner or later evaporate.
If I had gotten them through the ancient art of cocksucking I have no doubt I would have a far better job now and a far more stable life. Because what one must do to get ahead in the world is to suck cock all the way to the top, and then when you make it, to pretend that you never sucked a single cock to get there.
As it happens, I seem to have started a new job. Well, not a real job, but another gig – which will have to do at the minute. Believe it or not, I am once again working for Pathetica. No, really. I am. Who has ever heard of such a thing? It’s deranged. But you see, a few weeks ago, there I was sending e-mails out and about to everyone I have ever worked for, looking for tips and references for freelance work. Shortly thereafter I got an e-mail from this new kid who seems to be the new assistant at Pathetica, which is apparently starting up a new film division of some sort.
Mind you, I will not be working as a union reader, but rather just as a freelancer, getting paid by the piece. I do not know if this would be considered “scab” work – nothing in my union contract prohibits me from working for a living, you know – but it is just queasy-making enough for me not to want the other folks in the union to know what I am up to. So what we have now will be me doing two little freelance gigs, and then also spending some time grading school papers for this family friend of mine. After I get a bit of money in the bank, I shall be able to address other problems in my life, or so I hope.
