The Teary Confesssion
Just like Randy "Duke" Cunningham, I too made a teary confession once.
I was about eight years old, with a raging addiction to sugar whose craven demands much outpaced my ability to cover for them. While home alone, I had opened a brand-new bag of powdered sugar, dumped it onto a dinner plate, and proceeded to spoon-feed myself into an oblivion of glazed pleasure. Then I heard the front door open. I dashed for the dining room, struggled with the liquor cabinet--I'd hide it in there! No one ever looked!--but I couldn't get it open. So I crouched and shoved, and pushed the plate of powder underneath the sideboard.
And then I forgot about it. Until my mother found it a few days later and confronted me. And this was very bad, mind you, since my attraction-slash-addiction was already well-known and had been much deplored. Of course I said that it wasn't me, it was my little friend Carrie from down the street who'd done it. Duh. A few days later, after being much glowered upon and disapproved of by mom and dad, I came down late one night and made a confession. Tearily. Even at the time it struck me as odd that I was crying. After all, I was guilty; it was a gross infraction of rules; I had lied; another gross infraction of rules; and it was a preposterous lie. What was I crying about? It was all my fault, I should have known way better. Was I feeling sorry for myself? The audacity of it.
All these years later, I feel validated that Duke also had the unbelievable audacity to actually cry while confessing to corruption so outrageous it is shocking to believe he could have been--that anyone in public office could have been--so phenomenally greedy and stupid. Cunningham took at least $2.4 million in bribes from defense contractors who were rewarded with Pentagon contracts. He bought houses, a yacht that he discreetly named "The Dukester," a Rolls Royce, antiques, Oriental carpets, jewelry.
And then he cried as he confessed and said, tearily, that he's, um, sorry. He broke the law. Snivel, sniff. He's sorry for what exactly? For the outrageousness? For the preposterousness? For himself? It's a strange instinct, but I understand it. It's so hard to be bad, because you just end up feeling so damn bad about being bad. Duke, I understand, I'm crying with you.
Now quit snivelling you brazen parasite, because it makes me gag.