My Dirty, Dirty Secret
In confessional mode today. Since China has intrepidly copped to his guilty man-crush on ultra-fash superhero Judge Dredd, I am emboldened to 'fess up my own horrible illicit pash to you, my wise and understanding friends who I am sure will not judge me too harshly. After all, as a Baci chocolate wrapper once told me, le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne comprend pas.
Out with it then. Um, this is really hard. OK, courage. Friends, I have a dirty, shameful, unforgivable crush on...
Dominique de Villepin.
Oh, I know it's wrong. And I know, come the day, he'll be up against the wall and I'll probably have to execute his unelected reactionary none-more-aristo ass myself for my sins. But ohhhh. That aquiline nose. That carelessly tousled hair. That unrufflable authoritative calm. Those suits.
As long as I'm coming clean, I cannot in good conscience deny that I was visited with a smidgen of unholy glee when he stomped that trollish neocon upstart Sarkozy with his shiny, shiny shoes.
I'm not proud of it. It's a blot on my record and no mistake. But there it is. I stand before you naked.