99 Problems (and a Bush Ain't One)

So it turns out that the Enquirer was right, everyone else was wrong, and Edwards is a lying douche. And kudos on his choice; apparently she's had so many cocks in her Edwards had to double-park his on her ass for an hour and wait his turn. And the kid's really his or she's telling the truth about it being the other guy in the campaign organization, homiez passin' a chickenhead between them, which either way spells class with a capital K. The whole thing is just so clichéd and Primary Colors, when you get right down to it.

Now begins the tedious process of grilling the librul MSM on why they "held off" on the story. Um, because the only allegations were being funneled anonymously through a tabloid rag, with no corroborating evidence, and Edwards is a politically powerful man who made his money as a courtroom pit bull. Not exactly a guy you need smacking you upside the head with a libel suit, if you don't have to. Hell, we should also ask why the librul MSM, in its vigorous hunting of poor ol' Fredo, never pursued the Enquirer's stories on him drinking again.

Or better yet, as I said before, why no one's wondering about the timing here. It's convenient, almost as convenient having an unresolved domestic terrorism case suddenly wrap up neatly over a summer weekend when no one's paying attention. Edwards insists that the affair was brief and in 2006, which is almost certainly a lie, since not one thing he's said in all this has proven to be true, and he apparently has been funneling hush money to her for some time. But if he's the father, that puts things at more like mid-2007, which would make him borderline retarded, seeing as how he was about to embark on a presidential campaign. Forget the moralizing -- what if this dumbass had won the nomination?

Yet this never came up on the radar until now, at least two years since the relationship commenced, and probably a year since it cooled or ended, and all the Enquirer will say is that they were "tipped". Just in time to force the (distant) third-place Dem candidate into self-defenestration a couple weeks before the convention. As always, cui bono? This is about as accidental as Diaper Dave Vitter's madam stringing herself up in a shed, instead of taking her extremely valuable secrets to the free marketplace.