Metro

Even friends won’t touch this ding-dong

Anthony Weiner exited the political universe the same way he entered Planet Earth — naked in his shame. And utterly alone.

Weiner’s pregnant wife, Huma Abedin, steered clear of him in his hour of need. There were no porn stars, strippers, or high-school-age groupies on hand to cushion his fall.

His parents were no-shows, as was his brother. Mentor Chuck Schumer was too busy.

VOTE: WHICH WEINER POST PAGE 1 IS YOUR FAVORITE?

PHOTOS: WEINER AND HIS WOMEN

Weiner stood, solo, at the podium of a Brooklyn senior center to deliver a resignation speech in an event that rapidly devolved into a three-ring circus. One that mirrored the way the seven-term congressman lived his final political days.

Hecklers and old ladies, who wondered excitedly if they’d be on TV, jammed a room chock-a-block with media.

“Bye-bye, perv!” a man shouted after Weiner admitted, finally, that he’d ruined everything with his compulsive penile fixation. He was stepping down from his congressional seat. Then, I saw something I haven’t seen in a month.

Anthony Weiner smiled.

Ten days earlier, he whimpered in a Manhattan ballroom, saying he’d been a bad boy. Here with his peeps, he didn’t beg. He was relieved.

I am heartbroken.

Yes, I’ll miss the drama, the breathless egotism and ludicrousness that was Weinergate. But I miss something else.

I miss Anthony Weiner. Or, at least, the idea of him.

Long ago, I grew fond of the brash pol. He was funny and always accessible. He never failed to answer a phone call.

Weiner was a bit liberal for my tastes. But he knew how to play the political middle when it counted. Back in 2005, when he thought of running for mayor, he bucked his leftist brethren, and came out for tax cuts.

He wore his Jewishness with honor. He embraced his Queens roots — for which some of us take little pride.

But during the first part of his spiel, he sounded as if he were delivering a campaign speech, talking about his middle-class roots. I didn’t know if he was running for re-election or to therapy. He needs to go away.

I don’t know what possesses a man to send pictures of his crotch to strange women. Or why he would send such a pic to the whole Twitterverse. An accident? Or an exhibitionistic cry for help?

At least now I understand why so many steered clear.

I liked Anthony Weiner. I was betrayed.