Pardon me. Sometimes I like pretending that I’m important and sexually active enough to issue statements like this.
A PUBLIC STATEMENT
I wish to express my most sincere regret for recent events. While I regret having brought dishonor to a position of public trust, I regret even more deeply the pain that this situation has caused my family.
My behavior was inexcusable. Particularly unconscionable was my use of taxpayer funds for expenses such as jewelry, fur coats, hotel rooms, manacles, an Olympic-size trampoline, 10 gallons of banana pudding, and a case of Viagra from a Mexican pharmacy.
I have let down the good people of my district, as well as my beloved wife and children. It was only in the interests of protecting them that I issued those earlier denials.
But now that the infamous “lederhosen photos” are making the rounds of all the major news outlets, I suppose there’s no point in keeping up the pretense. (As a personal aside to the hotel maid who’s apparently also something of an amateur photographer – I guess you can add whatever money that fishwrapper of a tabloid paid you to the sizable tip I left on the dresser. You’re welcome. Bitch.)
For what it’s worth, I hope that my constituents will keep in mind my years of dedicated public service, and take consolation in the fact that at least she wasn’t ugly.
I mean, let’s be frank here. If you’re going to pull something like this, you might as well make it count, right? So if those public funds were going to be misappropriated anyway, they might as well go for some high-quality tail.
And boy, was it ever high quality. Better than anything those jocks who used to make fun of me for being in student government could ever dream of. Especially Joe Russo, who used to call me “dorkwad.”
Joe, should you happen to see this, I’m curious about something. Why’d you bring a manatee in a dress to our 20-year reunion? Oh. My mistake. That was your wife! HAH!
Have you seen those photos of my mistress, Joe? Pretty smokin’, huh? And she didn’t call me “dorkwad.” No sir. She called me “Badass Biker Daddy.” See, we had this game where we’d pretend she was a sexy but bored truckstop waitress. Then one day I pull up on my Harley and … Anyway, think about that when you curl up next to Manatee Woman. Then cry yourself to sleep, jackass.
What was I saying? Oh yes. Regret. Deep, deep regret.
God bless America.