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The Real Housewives Of Benghazi
Just a week after the re-election of Barack Hussein Obama II as, unaccountably, president of the United States, the full extent of the looming disaster is beginning to dawn on the American people. Forget the looming fiscal cliff, the Senate majority leader’s irresponsible decision to exclude the soon-to-be-bankrupt Social Security system from any budget agreement, the retention of the corrupt Eric Holder as attorney general, or the bruited nominations of the inept Susan Rice as secretary of State, the arrogant John Kerry as secretary of Defense, and the incompetent John Brennan as the new director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Those things, if they come to pass, will cause us plenty of heartburn down the road to Alinskyite serfdom.
For now, though, simply consider the state of the U.S. military, whose moral collapse was signaled by the surprise resignation of CIA director David Petraeus last week as details of his affair with his biographer, Paula Broadwell, slowly became public — a scandal that quickly ensnared Gen. John Allen, the U.S. commander in Afghanistan, and another woman, Jill Kelley. By now, you’ve read most of the salacious details of this French bedroom farce, which would be funny if it weren’t so serious — with one door at Centcom after another flying open to reveal lissome bare-limbed married ladies and half-uniformed generals scrambling to get their pants on as the press explodes in orgiastic satisfaction. With its mission accomplished — getting Hussein re-elected and condemning America to four more years of potentially fatal economic disaster, foreign policy malevolence, and domestic fascism in the form of Obamacare, bureaucratic regulation, and executive orders, the media is only too happy to start poking around in the bedrooms of the soon-to-be-formerly famous and powerful.
It’s richly ironic that after celebrating a Democratic Party campaign that was almost entirely based on explicit appeals to female sexuality, including free birth control and the abortion of the inconvenient as a constitutional right, the media now finds itself back in the drag of Tom Wolfe’s Victorian Gentleman, prudishly cluck-clucking over the remarkable fact that when institutional barriers between men and women break down — barriers erected not out of sexist animus or irrational prejudice, but in recognition of the biological reality of boy meets girl — all sorts of things start to happen. Including rampant sexual activity from the top down; as David French observes here:
