Is Anthony Weiner completely delusional? Or is he out of his flipping, sex-crazed gourd?
Whatever big-busted fantasies crawl around the ex-congressman’s delirious noggin, la Weiner made his next goal as clear as the skin of the wholesome college students he craved: He relishes being Mayor Weiner.
Please, shut up this clown.
SHAMED POL CONSIDERS MAYORAL RUN
WEINER STIFF COMPETITION FOR DEM FOES
These days, the genitally obsessed Weiner has nothing much to do, except sit in his lavish Manhattan apartment and — the inhumanity! — change the poopy diapers of his 16-month-old son, Jordan.
Worse, Weiner is living under a kind of house arrest, sentenced to take extreme grief from his angry wife, Hillary Rodham Clinton aide Huma Abedin, with whom he spends every waking and sleeping hour.
I’d take the diapers.
Desperate to get out from under the nappies, determined to rise up from under Huma’s gigantic thumb, Weiner, ever the unrepentant egotist, has come up with an absurd plan.
Months before the Democratic mayoral primary, he sat with a highly gullible New York Times Magazine reporter for a series of interviews so shamelessly self-serving, shockingly self-absorbed and — gag me! — so deftly designed to make Weiner look like a misunderstood, endearing shlub, I’d almost vote for him.
Almost.
A recap: In 2011, the imbecile sent a sext of his boxer-brief clad, fully engorged manhood to all 45,000 of his Twitter followers. He meant it for the eyes of one 21-year-old Seattle college babe. Oops.
Or was this a cry for help?
We really don’t know what evil lurks in the smutty mind of Weiner. He A) won’t say; B) doesn’t know; or, more likely C) doesn’t care. As Weiner said, he never considered his sexts anything serious. Until he was caught.
Even then, he initially insisted his Twitter account was hacked, and developed a paranoid delusion that enemies were out to get him. Only when he was backed into a corner did he confess.
He had cheated, virtually, on his then-pregnant wife, and resigned from Congress.
He still doesn’t get it.
In the Times article, Weiner minimized what amounted to an intense form of emotional infidelity — to his wife, his constituents, and even to the co-ed with whom he was unfaithful with other tweeters — as “that fateful tweet.’’
Fateful. It was as if Weiner were suggesting that fate, not his own, miserable actions, were to blame. Had he not been a technological buffoon and gotten caught, literally, with his pants down, he’d never have been discovered, and we’d never know of the fever that raged in his underpants. As it turns out, some of the girls with whom he got sloppy online — he admitted to six — were young enough to be his children.
He also made himself out to be a victim of unnamed political forces who were out to get him.
Another excuse — his father never hugged him.
His brother, Seth, sadly died at age 39. Weiner enlisted his sister-in-law, Almond Zigmund, to say the Weiner men’s lack of emotion in the face of tragedy came out in “weird ways.’’ As if those of us who’ve lost a sibling risk becoming maniacs.
But he revealed the real secret: He enjoyed it.
I think he’d do it again.
“Well, I would stop, or say I was going to stop, talking to someone,’’ he motor-mouthed. But he could never let a willing chick go.
“And someone would get upset. One of these people would say, ‘You’re not paying enough attention to me,’ or, ‘What’s going on with our relationship?’ And, I would then maybe play out, you know.”
And, Huma, the wife who stayed, is — there’s no nice way to put this — a nag.
“It’s not behind us,’’ said Weiner. “It kind of bubbles around and comes up in different ways. But she’s, um . . .” He cried. “She’s given me another chance. And I am very grateful for that. And I’m trying to make sure I get it right.”
Weiner has had too much therapy. Yet he can’t explain what he did. The closest he came to an epiphany was to say, Willy Loman-style, that he sexted because he “wanted to be liked and admired.’’
Huma is now starting to think Weiner should run.
Getting a bad husband out of the house is no reason to elect a man to office.
Get a real job, Weiner.