Bill and Gary are middle-aged politicians who like to have sex with a variety of women, or at least that’s the public perception. As married men and public figures, they both characterize themselves as “basically faithful” and moral, although admittedly imperfect.

This is a politically effective way of qualifying bad behavior. When you are determined on an evil course, remind everyone that human beings are imperfect. As Christ Himself once said, “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”

(In their zeal to follow Christ, the House and Senate are sure to remain silent.)

Bill and Gary are powerful, clever men. Although they share the same taste in women, they do not share the same philosophy when it comes to getting caught. When cornered by investigators Bill admitted a few things, depending on your definition of the word “is.” Bill even apologized on TV. Later he closeted himself with ministers and evangelists, searching for salvation.

But Gary has handled things a bit differently. When evidence of his affair with Chandra Levy became overwhelming, he also went on TV. But there was no blubbering confession. Gary was vague, evasive and not in the least apologetic. He did not follow Bill’s successful method. He did not feel anyone’s pain.

While Bill quickly admitted the error of his ways, Gary pointed to the errors of others. He accused one witness of seeking publicity and financial gain. He said that the missing girl’s mother had mischaracterized his honest and forthright replies. The police had also made mistakes.

Bill no doubt watched Gary’s television appearance with dismay. Everything is so simple? Why not admit to a troubled childhood? Why not confess and receive forgiveness?

Imagine the conversation if Bill called Gary to offer some advice:

“I’ve been in your shoes, buddy, and you’re making a big mistake,” Bill would say.

“Why is that Mr. President?”

“You should have asked forgiveness. You should have admitted everything,” Bill would suggest.

“I never had a cross word with that girl, Chandra Levy,” Gary would interject.

“Of course you didn’t, Gary. That’s not the point. It’s all about humanizing your image. Everybody makes mistakes.”

“I’ve been married for 34 years, and I’ve not been a perfect man, and I’ve made my share of mistakes,” Gary would then explain.

“I know, I know, we all have,” Bill would respond, “and there’s no shame in it. The shame is in going down because you can’t admit it. That’s the way Nixon went down. You don’t want to be a Nixon, do you?”

“It’s out of respect for my family, and out of a specific request from the Levy family.”

“Hey Gary, were those little sex sessions respectful of the family? Get off it, buddy, this is your friend Bill talking. I know the score. I know what’s happening here. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“I never had a cross word with her,” Gary would repeat.

“If you admit your mistake people will forgive and forget,” Bill would say again. “Look at how they forgave me. My popularity ratings soared higher than ever.”

“I never told that girl to leave her I.D. at home,” Gary might offer.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Bill would say with exasperation. “Trying to give you advice is like talking to a brick wall.”

“I didn’t bury her under a brick wall,” Gary would blurt, compulsively.

“So what did you do with her? Maybe I can be of help there, too,” Clinton might finally offer.

Here is where the men are separated from the boys, the lightweights from the heavyweights, the brilliant politicians from the bland mediocrities. America’s native criminal class should take note. The model of American political corruption is also an oracle.

Earth to Gary, Earth to Gary: Are we learning yet?

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