At the same moment that an old friend of mine was telling me he was contacted by a private investigator, who was asking about me, the news broke about the Senate’s gay porn star. It was a perfect confluence of events. A young Senate staffer was videotaped getting buttfucked in the Senate Judiciary Room on Capitol Hill. The video had leaked and was all over social media.
A high school buddy of mine and I were discussing how the Democrats had tried to bend me over in the same room in the same way in 2018. Unlike the dude in the video taking it on all fours, I said no thanks.
My friend “Tom” and I were at a Christmas party. Tom and I had gone to school together at Georgetown Prep in the early-1980s. While people in the next room belted out bad karaoke, Tom was telling me about his experience during the Brett Kavanaugh nomination hearings. The left had used extortion, witness tampering and a honey trap to try and get me to bury Kavanaugh, a high school friend, falsely been accused of sexual assault. The accuser couldn’t recall the time, place or even year, and the people she said were there—including me—denied such an event ever took place.
Now I was just finding out that the left didn’t just use lies, opposition researchers and witness tampering to destroy us—they’d even hired a private investigator. In the fall of 2018 Tom was contacted by a PI who wanted to know all about me, Kavanaugh, keg parties, girls. Like most of my prep friends, Tom told him to fuck off.
The juxtaposition was unreal. The Daily Caller had just reported that a Senate staffer had filmed himself getting pounded in the Senate Judiciary Room itself, and the media couldn’t bury the story fast enough. The staffer was fired, our fearless press told us. It’s time to move on. At the same time, here I was, still traumatized from 2018, discovering that it wasn’t just the politicians, media and opposition researchers—The Devils Triangle: Mark Judge vs the New American Stasi—trying to kill me. They’d hired a private investigator. The size and scale of the dragnet to ensnare us was epic—and planned for months. The guy doing the birdcage in the Hart Senate Building? No big deal.
There won’t be any criminal investigation of the blue boy porn star of Senate. And you know what? There shouldn’t be. The guy was fired. That’s good, although he should also be fined. His was an act of desecration, just like the violation of the Capitol find by the idiots on January 6. Both penetrations into a sacred civil space should be punished, just not in an overly punitive way.
A great theologian once observed that the genius and holiness of Jesus is that he “took a step outside of the circle of retribution.” The politics of personal destruction needs to stop. Hiring a private investigator to comb through high school yearbooks and float gossip about 1980s keg parties is totalitarian. I remember how Pope John Paul Ii described the communists in Poland not just as cruel, but petty. America’s become too petty while simultaneously growing unbearably hysterical. Making terrible allegations without proof shouldn’t grant you an audience in the Senate. (As Brit Hume recently tweeted about me, “This should never have happened in America. But it did.”) Sex in the Senate shouldn’t happen, but it also shouldn’t ruin someone’s life.
After Tom told me about his experience with Columbo, the karaoke in the next room grew louder. They were butchering “Highway to Hell.” “What do you say?” Tom said. “You up for some AC/DC?” After all, it was the music we’d rocked out to long ago.
“Sure,” I said, “but can we do ‘Girl’s Got Rhythm’ instead?”
