Mon Dieu! Kick this toad out of town. And chuck his women, too.
Dominique Strauss-Kahn’s legal troubles are over, at least in this country, because the freaky French guy tangled with the wrong maid — a woman nearly as sneaky and obscene as the wantonly adulterous Pepe le Pew himself.
Whose company would you prefer, New Yorkers? A rich, horny, Gallic goof-ball who enjoys oral sex with a hotel maid, then skips off to lunch with his 26-year-old daughter as if to celebrate his rapid close encounter?
Or an immigrant housekeeper who lies about being gang-raped in Africa, tells animated tales of being nearly frog-raped in New York — then rolls around the floor, sobbing, as prosecutors try to sort fiction from fact?
Kick them both out. Then change the locks.
DSK, 62, looked mighty proud of himself as he strolled into the courtroom yesterday through one door, moments after his pathetic doormat of a wife, Anne Sinclair, entered from another.
Wifey chose a funereal black number from her deep closets to wear on the day she was to regain primary custody of her perpetually faithless hub.
Was she sending a message? Or planning a hit?
He wore a charcoal suit matched with an annoying smirk. This is the man French weirdos call “The Great Seducer” — whose countless affairs have turned his former career as head of the International Monetary Fund and his almost-election as France’s lefty president into a disgrace.
As he strolled into the well for perhaps the last time, he never glanced at the woman to whom he’s wed, a first in this legal odyssey. I wondered if he could possibly respect her.
Can any man respect a woman who allows herself to be used, and reused, like a wrinkled Kleenex?
Pissed-off Assistant District Attorney Joan Illuzzi-Orbon boiled down the case into a prosecutorial Sophie’s Choice:
Either DSK eagerly engaged in “a hurried sexual encounter” with the maid, Nafissatou Diallo, 33.
Or Diallo suffered “a forcible sexual encounter.”
“If we do not believe the complainant beyond a reasonable doubt, we cannot ask a jury to do so,” said Illuzzi-Orbon, who went with the “hurried” program — a romantic version of a drive-by shooting — and asked Judge Michael Obus to drop all charges against DSK. The judge agreed.
Many questions remain unanswered.
What exactly happened in the Sofitel? Near-rape? A shakedown? Or quickie sex gone wrong?
We do know that a married man felt entitled to everything in that suite, from the contents of the minibar to the illicit company of the woman who made his bed. I wonder — did DSK ever stop for a post-sexual smoke? Or ask Diallo’s name?
We’ll never know. And for that, Diallo has no one to blame but herself.
But I’m not crying for the French guy, either.
Get back on that Air France jet and soil your linens back home, Mr. Big Shot. We don’t like your kind.