Former Rep. Foley - Don't Rehab, Be Fab!

By Jonathan Ray Keller

Mr. Foley, I understand you checked into an alcohol rehab center yesterday. Perhaps you missed the message of this whole episode – drinking isn’t the issue, Sparky, it’s the whole boy-harassing thing.

I am no stranger to excessive drinking - in fact for a period of my life, I considered it a bit of competitive sport – yet I have never asked a 16-year-old-boy to provide a play-by-play as he tugged the trouser tiger. The most shameful behavior modification I experienced under the influence involved relishing White Castle as if it were heavenly manna, laughing out loud at Adam Sandler movies, or singing and fist-pumping to Night Ranger. By nature, I like to eat laugh and rawk, and alcohol lowers one’s standards to un-soberly-fathomable levels. For me, it has never created an appetite; just caused me to think really awful things could quench an existing one. Hence, my logical conclusion: you love the dick.

You, Mark Foley, love dick - admit it. Not to me, Sir, admit it to yourself: you’re all about the pole.

You can’t do it, can you? Even though deep in your heart you know it to be true, you can’t level with yourself. Let’s break this down:

1) Be it from a lifetime of social, religious, and/or political programming you have been taught to hate, despise, belittle and oppress the North American Tufted Swallowpecker, and those same forces demand that you pride yourself on propriety. This conundrum creates an irreconcilable cognitive dissonance which has manifested itself in your leading a double life. In public, you’re the Right Upstanding Conservative Man of the People; in private, your pent-up hunger for the man-meat converts you into an irrational and irrepressible pud predator.

2) You drink to make the little Limbaugh in your head stop screaming “Fag! Homo!” at you all day long. The effects of alcohol on the mind, however, are about as subtle as a sausage fart and half as precise. Once Rush Jr. is put to bed, you gots to get your freak on.

3) Your position of power prevents you from taking care of business through a hook-up or a hooker like any Joe Closet in the private sector: nobody can know THAT about you. Even though your home state leads the league in every flavor of porn filming, distribution and consumption imaginable, Florida voters would never elect an *open* deviant because they’re such good Christians.

4) Your prestigious professional standing is the only thing about your entire existence you don’t loathe, so you must protect it. Ergo: you take your dickin’s from people you can control - and that have no K-Street cred – 16-year-old Congressional page boys.

Go ahead and shudder, Marky Mark. Your story is not unique – it’s very screwed up, but not unique – and I’ve heard it before. Yours is definitely more damaging than most others, however, which is why I felt the need to step in. Not only are you adversely affecting an untold number of young men’s lives and the lives of those around them, you have backhandedly jumped on the Mel Gibson train to blame our friend alcohol for your egregious amorality.

Take it to the root, Mark. Booze didn’t make you perve out on boys, the fact that you’re a sausage man in the seafood restaurant of southern conservative politics did. You want to heal, Mr. Foley? Don’t rehab, be fab! Once you burst out of that closet and start being honest with yourself, all your problems will melt away like the ice cubes in a slowly-enjoyed double bourbon on the rocks.

A toast! To your new honest life, Mark Foley, I say Bottoms Up!

Urrh... make that Cheers!