Far be it from me to revel in the misfortune of another, but there are times when Karma works wonders and some get exactly what they deserve. An MP who shall remain nameless has been publicly exposed as the wanker that anyone with half-a-brain already knew him to be, and anyone with half-a-brain is ecstatic at the exposure.
A man who had applauded the unveiling of a plaque intended to honour the memory of a deceased fellow honourable member – regardless of the unseemly rumours that had circulated around him for decades – abruptly changed tack within a couple of years and sought to raise his own obscure little profile by hitching a ride on the historical abuse bandwagon. Sensing which way the media wind was blowing and seeing another nondescript backbencher from the same party rising up the ranks courtesy of a moral crusade based on hearsay and unsubstantiated gossip clearly served as a light bulb for this most undistinguished passenger on the Westminster gravy-train. The crass opportunism was so blatant it was embarrassing, but he embarked upon it nonetheless, happy to lavishly embellish something that ‘Private Eye’ had uncovered with a little less sensationalistic relish as far back as the 1970s.
Curiously, at the same time he was outing dead MPs as incurable corrupters of illegal flesh, he was parading through the tabloids with a virtual child bride himself – a woman with two notable assets that she promoted via social media in a manner that mocked her position as a local councillor. They were a joke, a Netto John & Yoko whose collective imaginary back-stories could have powered the Jeremy Kyle Show for a good twelve months. Strangely enough, he chose not to publicise some of the sordid episodes in his previous married life that have now infected the same column inches he dominated just a year ago as a campaigning white knight.
As so often occurs when the male menopause singles out a woman for attention whose age is closer to one’s daughter than one’s ex, it all ended in tears as the fallen Madonna with the big boobies flew the nest, having torn apart her own family beforehand thanks to opting for the abuse angle to elicit sympathy rather than ridicule. Abandoned and still condemned to the opposition benches, he consoled himself by ‘sexting’ an adolescent moose whose age, according to the repositioned goalposts he himself helped move, now falls into the category of childhood. The woeful fantasies of the single middle-aged man surfaced online, reflecting his inherent stupidity – as though nobody would store them away! – and now they have come back to haunt him in the most humiliating manner imaginable.
His former spouse has added to the humiliation by succumbing to the journalist’s cheque book and revealing all; whether true or not, the descriptions of his numerous unedifying sexual predilections have done further damage to the excuse for a reputation he possessed. A man who has spent the past couple of years pointing the finger should have known any tabloid tales of dubious bedtime antics were bound to provoke ‘other victims coming forward’ and – surprise, surprise – the latest headlines concern a rape allegation. Why didn’t he see this as the inevitable outcome? Because he’s a f***ing idiot. One could say he was dragging politics into disrepute, though it’s hard to imagine a more disreputable profession than politics other than banking. Nevertheless, his ludicrous antics in the squalid soap opera he’s presided over haven’t exactly done much to improve the image of politics. That the same former spouse washing the marital linen in public has also been accused of past dodgy activities herself just adds to the seedy saga and drags politics even deeper into the dirt when few thought that possible.
For someone who was so eager to put the boot in, to throw stones, to piss on graves and to sully the reputations and legacies of those not around to defend themselves, putting surviving family members through untold agonies and exposing them to unfavourable media attention in the process, the spectacular downfall currently playing out in the pages of the dailies and via the same medium he conducted a sleazy little ‘courtship’ on has an irony that goes way beyond mere delicious. There’s an old showbiz adage that says one should be careful who one shits on whilst ascending the ladder because one doesn’t know if one will meet them on the way back down. This horrible individual didn’t care where his effluence landed when he saw a chance to promote his career, and now he is covered in his own crap. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer twat.
© The Editor