Let Us All Post Pictures of Our Weiners

by Debbie Stoller

The truth has outed. The weiner was Weiner’s, as was the chin/nose shot, the two pussies (which were actually cats, what did you think, pervert?) and the chest shot, which seemed to me the most suspect of all, as I have never seen so little body hair on a Jewish man. There were no “hackers,” who may now enter the vernacular as a descriptor for an shadowy, omniscient demimonde whose nefarious powers are feared and misunderstood by the body politic. “Hackers” are the new “bloggers” or “Jews.” But I digress.

I’m not going to pretend I don’t care about Weinergate or Twittergate or Weinerdog or Weinerburger or whatever we’re calling this little scandal that wasn’t. I obviously care deeply, or I wouldn’t be writing this for you now (except for the fact that Sam asked me if I would, after complimenting my earlier tweet, and I will grant almost any request if it is couched in a compliment. For example, if someone said: “Rachel, you have really nice boobs, would you please send me a photo of them via Twitter DM” I cannot say with certitude that I would not. I mean, I probably wouldn’t. But in a weak moment…anyway, again I digress.)

As a woman, I know that I am probably supposed to be outraged. How could he do such a thing to his poor wife? And yet, as a wife myself, I have to say that if I found out my husband was sending crotch and/or chest shots to women he had never met online, I am pretty sure I would laugh and laugh and laugh. How do I know this? Because usually, when these sorts of sex scandals come up, I ask myself how I would feel if they happened to me. Like, if I suddenly found out that my husband had a secret child with our housekeeper who he had been screwing for a decade and a half under my own roof, while I supported her and treated her like a member of the family and bought her expensive Christmas gifts and took her on vacation, I would be royally pissed. If it turned out he had sent a photo of him sitting on the couch with our two cats to some lady, along with a flirty caption? I would roll my eyes and tell him to ask me for help next time. I will not have my husband composing mediocre double entendres. As members of the wordy professions, it reflects poorly on us both.

Have we really become so unsexy as a society that you don’t even get to touch somebody for it to count as an affair? Here are the things Anthony Weiner didn’t do. He didn’t rape a hotel maid or a 13-year-old girl. He didn’t knock up a staffer while his wife was terminally ill with cancer, then misappropriate campaign funds to cover it up. He didn’t serve his sick wife divorce papers while cavorting with yet another staffer. He didn’t leave the maimed woman who cared for him after his release from a Vietnamese POW camp for a 25-year-old brewing heiress. He didn’t (with all respect) get his peepee sucked in the Oval Office by an intern. He didn’t rail against the evils of homosexuality while soliciting the services of a male meth-head prostitute (if you don’t remember exactly which one that was, it’s because there are too many to name). And he didn’t coerce his humiliated wife to stand next to him during a debasing press conference, which, as far as I’m concerned, almost makes him a feminist fucking hero.

Here’s what Anthony Weiner has done: he has been a forceful and fearless voice for progressive values, speaking out with unrivaled passion and eloquence for universal health care, against corporate corruption and Republican fecklessness and hypocrisy, against bigotry and intolerance of all stripes. When he said he would not resign, I actually cheered. Yes, he did something stupid, short-sighted, and more than a little creepy. Who among us hasn’t? And where will this nationalization of the private sphere (something you’d think “libertarians” like Andrew Breitbart would be steadfastly against) end? Will we demand the resignation of a Senator who visibly goggles at a luscious Hollywood star? Will we impeach the president if we find out he sometimes watches porn on his computer? If that’s the case, we might as well exile (sexile?) every man, woman and child in the country. America, you have been voted off the island.

There is only one solution. In solidarity, let us all post pictures of our weiners. Like when all the Danish people wore yellow Stars of David in protest against the Nazis shaming of the Jews. (I know that its possible Leon Uris made that story up, but nevertheless.) Boundaries must be drawn. They cannot destroy us all.

(Here is mine. I’m wearing my husband’s underpants, for verisimilitude’s sake. I tried it out with a piece of string cheese–WRAPPED!–but that felt weird. Yes, that is Morrissey.)

By Rachel Shukert. Originally posted at The Faster Times

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