My bologna has a first name

Am I the only person in America wondering what a 46 year old Jewish Congressman from New York City, whose parents' names are Mort and Fran, is doing taking a picture of his Johnson?

To me, the real question is not "why isn't the FBI involved" or "was Anthony Weiner's Twitter account hacked into or not" or "does Mr. Big Deal Democratic member of the Committee on Oversight and Investigations know or not know a certain 21 year old coed in Washington State."  The real question in my mind is what is a grown man who's supposed to be a champion of middle class values -- married less than a year to a beautiful and successful young woman, powerful in her own right -- doing photographing Mr. Happy for the public.  It's not right, it's un-American and, frankly, it's making me more than a little uncomfortable.

I will be honest with you.  I have formed my own Oversight and Investigations Committee.  I have googled Little Mr. Hot Pants' picture to see what all this fuss is about. Here are my conclusions -- (1) that half smoke is erect; and (2) that dog probably will bite; and (3) that pee pee has a nice profile; and (4) that dynamite stick is happy to see someone; and (5) how much time and effort does this US Congressman put into selecting his boxer briefs?  Anthony Weiner's underpants are really nice.  Maybe that is what separates the upper ruling class from those of us normal types who are more normal and smelly.  The Congressman's underpants seem unusually, well, fresh and, dare I say, not at all what I would expect someone from Brooklyn and Queens, much less Rockaway Beach, to wear.

When I wake up in the morning, it's all I can do to make sure that I put my underwear inside my pants.  I don't give a flying batshit what they look like -- I don't even care if they have more holes in them than I need for my legs.  I just want something between the general public and my danger zone.  Period, end of story, no more thinking about it.  Maybe if I knew that my log roll was going to have a glamor shot (oh, there's a joke there somewhere) later in the day, though, I would think differently.  But, the fact is, I don't really know because I have never photographed my hot dog.  Why would I?  If I was missing my peepee real bad and had an overwhelming and uncontrollable desire to see my peppermint stick right in the middle of the day, for example, I just figure it would just be easier to, oh, let's say, sneak behind my desk, unzip and take a look down.  Call me crazy.  Call me old fashioned.  Call me a cab, you crumb.  Have you ever photographed your smoked sausage?  I bet you haven't -- at least not since you turned 13 years old.

But, here, we have a prominent member of the United States House of Representatives saying to Luke Russert of MSNBC that he cannot say with "certitude" whether the photograph of the purple headed warrier is him or not.  Really?  Putting aside his use of the word "certitude," I don't know about the rest of you guys, but I am pretty sure that, if I ever did see a picture of my schwangy-schwangstein, I would be able to know with 100% certitude whether it was my lollipop or not.  Of course, that will never be an issue because I have never photographed and will never photograph my applehead!

The Congressman also told FoxNews that he was taking a "hard" look at the situation.  I bet.  Anyone who has seen the photograph already knows just how hard.  His commitment to this is obvious.  In a statement that I find more confusing than anything -- especially about his knowledge of the male anatomy -- he told the Huffington Post that he wanted to get to the "bottom" of this.  Say what, Batman??? 


And, finally, I have to ask, am I the only person in America wondering if there is just the tiniest bit of irony that his last name is Weiner?

Let me end with a song.

"Oh my Congressman is horny.

That's h-o-r-n-y.

Oh my Congressman is naughty.

That's d-i-r-t-y.

Oh I love to hear him every day

And if you ask me why I say.

He Tweeted for a little kick

a picture of his hard dipstick.