Libs scrape the bottom of a stinky, stinky barrel to recycle Spitzer

Anyone who actually believes that disgraced whoremonger and cosmically comical hypocrite Eliot Spitzer has "mastered the art of the recovery," and that he's now been "rehabilitated," is simply delusional. Anyone who's trying to persuade you of that is someone with an extremely liberal agenda — and someone who's in an ill-concealed panic because they see how thin their team's bench is in New York State, ostensibly the preeminent power among the East Coast Blue States.

Nobody has ever liked Eliot Spitzer. Even coming from a state famous for producing rude people, and a profession famous for producing insufferable SOBs, Eliot Spitzer has always stood out mostly for his rudeness and insufferability. In fact, every time I see a picture of him, I'm inevitably reminded of one of my favorite extremely crude lawyer jokes — the one that begins, "Why do all lawyers wear neckties?" (I'm not going to link the answer, you'll have to Google it.)

Eliot Spitzer was never anything but a publicity-crazed jerk even before we learned of his interstate sex trafficking as "Client No. 9." He was a populist demagogue as New York's attorney general — the self-styled "Sheriff of Wall Street" never had anything but the vaguest regard for the rule of law he was sworn to uphold, and he obviously considered himself entirely above it. Finally promoted to the state's top elective office, he instantly became a scandal-plagued failure as New York's governor.

The truth is that Eliot Spitzer has no friends. But he has enemies who have enemies, and the latter don't have anyone more appealing than him to promote at the moment.

At least with the campaigns to rehabilitate Pete Rose or Darryl Strawberry, for example, those guys had genuine talent to partially offset and redeem their tragic flaws. Spitzer is 100% tragic flaw, without even the redeeming benefit of Joe Biden-style hair plugs. Does anyone seriously believe that if Spitzer were all alone in a hotel room tomorrow night — somehow assured that neither press nor law enforcement nor his long-suffering wife were watching — and "Kristen" tapped on his door again with a "90 minutes for $5k" proposition, Spitzer would slam the door in her face?

As H.L. Mencken famously wrote, "No one ever went broke underestimating the taste of the American public," and Spitzer still has the family fortune that allowed him to spend tens of thousands of dollars on callgirls without blinking an eye, so he's in no danger of going broke anyway. But I suppose the best that can be said for the "Spitzer rehabilitation campaign" is that if the Democrats and the voters of New York are stupid enough to buy into it, they deserve exactly what they get — and no one can doubt that they knew exactly what recycled garbage they're buying.