Governor Robert Bentley is expected to resign this week, possibly after negotiating a plea for lesser charges than those outlined in his articles of impeachment. (UPDATE: He has done exactly that this evening. Robert Bentley is no longer governor of Alabama.)
Sadly, I expect just about anyone who makes it in Alabama politics to be a crook. Mostly, I yawn. (And I do hope there is a shining exception who will run for governor sometime soon.) But, though it is the crook aspects of this debacle that will have ultimately brought Bentley down legally, it is mostly a tale of adultery.
And you know what? The adultery itself is not even what ultimately enraged me. In the first place, all fall short of the glory of God. In the second place, he would hardly be the first old, powerful man who got an attractive woman several decades his junior to play with his pee-pee and let it confuse him into thinking stupid things.
No, what kept me furious was that he was so defiant and unapologetic. There would be no morning of clarity; no reconsideration by a sound, responsible mind of such a highly questionable course. At the end of his life, having apparently jettisoned every shred of honor and dignity he ever had, there would be no “my God, what have I done?” moment.
Instead, he would rub our noses in it—most shamefully, that of Dianne Bentley, his wife of 50 years. Who but a true monster could subject such a person to such sustained cruelty and humiliation? Who but a delusional fool could look the electorate in the eye and tell us we’re just going to have to get over it, because he’s not resigning?
Oh, Governor? You wanna bet?
Hey, next let’s make a wager on how long you hang onto your mistress when you’re just a nasty duplicitous old man and not the governor!
Get out of our house, you miserable old creep.