It was another working Saturday for Gretchen and myself – the situation in the Middle East has been great for business – and I was booked solid for consultations from nine to five-thirty. But around ten-forty-five, between appointments, Gretchen told me that I had a call waiting from my nephew, Hank Junior, who is studying art at Brown. His request was that I schedule a free session with a young lady friend of his who goes by the name of Mindy and is currently visiting Washington DC. Well, anything for my dear nephew, of course.
Mindy arrived promptly at five-forty as Gretchen had specified in order to allow my final paying client to leave unobserved, something of considerable importance to him.
“Wow, Mr. Collins,” Mindy exclaimed as she entered my office, “this is really awesome! You can see the White House out the window and everything! And this furniture – and that rug! Is that what I think it is?”
“If you’re thinking that it’s a genuine antique hand-woven silk Persian carpet,” I replied, “then you are correct. So – Hank Junior told me you’re a friend of his from Brown. Are you an art student there too, then?”
“Oh no,” she shook her fiery red locks emphatically, “I can’t even draw a straight line! I’m – that is, I was – a political science major.”
“You were?” I sought to verify.
“Yes,” she affirmed, “I graduated last year. I’m… a couple of years older than Hank. I notice that you call him ‘Hank Junior,’ though. Is is father an artist, too?”
“No,” I told her, “his father can’t draw a straight line either, but his mother – who happens to be my older sister – she’s pretty handy with watercolors and sculpture. I suppose Hank Junior gets his talent from her. His dad, on the other hand, is interested in politics, though.”
“Really?” Mindy inquired, “Is he a political scientist, then?”
“No,” I sadly related, “he’s an ultra-conservative apocalyptic conspiracy nut currently holed up in the remote wilds of West Virginia with his brother’s wife, preparing for when Obama kicks off Armageddon.”
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry,” Mindy managed after a protracted pause, obviously not quite sure what else to say. “Was he… always like that?”
“No,” I explained, “he used to be an executive at Pabulex, a franchise upscale baby and toddler clothing and accessories business. They went bankrupt when the bottom fell out of the market for high-priced items like that after the economy went down the toilet in 2008. But that’s enough about Hank Junior and his family for the moment, I think. What can I do for you?”
“Well,” she began, “after I graduated from Brown, I got involved with Huma Abedin’s organization. I’m… that is, I aspire to be… one of her key advisors.”
“You want to be,” I sought to confirm, “a key advisor to Anthony D. Weiner’s wife?”
“Sure,” she affirmed, “that’s it exactly. I mean, like, Huma Abedin is a key advisor to Hillary Clinton, right?”
“So she is,” I allowed. “And you see the same kind of potential in Ms. Abedin as she does in Senator Clinton?”
“Uh-huh,” she nodded. “And what with… um… recent developments, I thought that if I could provide Huma with some really useful, insightful advice, she’d remember that… ah… in the future, you know?”
“So,” I surmised, “you would like me to give you some… material… you could relay to Mr. Abedin, which would provide her options to cope with the current revelations of continued sexually inappropriate behavior by her husband, who happens, at the moment, to be running for mayor of New York City?”
“Yes – that would be really awesome of you, Mr. Collins,” she enthused.
“And you intend,” I noted, “to pass off what I am going to tell you as your own, original thoughts and insights, I suppose?”
“Um… ah… er…” she stammered, temporarily somewhat flummoxed, “yeah, sure, of course. Isn’t that what all of your clients do?”
“You, young lady,” I assured her, “are certain to go far here in Washington. Very well then, let’s look at the facts. Your mentor, Huma Abedin, is married to a former United States Representative from New York who accidentally tweeted a picture of his tumescent male member bulging in his tighty-whitey to thousands of people when, in fact, he thought he was sending it to just one, single female recipient, a female recipient who was not Huma Abedin. Then he lied about it, saying someone had hacked his Twitter account. And after being caught in that lie, he kept lying until the whole affair became a tangled web of absurd and implausible prevarication, leaving him with no choice but to resign from Congress. Then, after a while, he proudly announced to the world that he was rehabilitated, and appeared in a People magazine article with Huma, everything all sweetness and light and restored to respectable decency. Then Mr. Weiner decided to re-enter the world of politics and run for mayor of New York, almost immediately after which, it came to light that despite proclaiming to the world that he had reformed and was no longer a sleazy junk-tweeting pervert, he had, in fact, continued to tweet various bimbos pictures of his genitals, using the ridiculously adolescent pseudonym of “Carlos Danger.” And this time, he often sent pictures of a raging tumescence no longer hidden by his underwear. Revelation of such behavior, of course, immediately precipitated numerous calls for him to withdraw from the New York mayoral race, which he has steadfastly ignored. Meanwhile, his wife, who has extensively involved herself with Mr. Weiner’s redemption narrative, is now in a deep and complex quandary as to what she should do next.”
“Yes, Mr. Collins,” Mindy agreed, “that’s it in a nutshell. How would you approach the problem?”
“Scenario analysis,” I replied. “There are twelve relevant scenarios pertaining to this situation. The first is a what they call a no-brainer. If Anthony Weiner is elected mayor of New York, honestly quits sexting and porno-tweeting, and does not dump Ms. Abedin for some tattoo-festooned bimbo, then Huma should put all of this behind her and start building her own political career on Mr. Weiner’s coat-tails.”
“Scenario One,” Mindy murmured as she began to take notes on her phablet, “he gets elected mayor and cleans up his act for real. Okay. Got it – in that case, she should play the loyal, forgiving politician’s wife and exploit his position as mayor. The problem with that is, it’s not very likely.”
“Well,” I allowed, “while one never knows about New York voters, I’d agree that the chances of Anthony Weiner cutting off all contact with fawning political groupies would be pretty darn slim if he gets elected mayor of New York. But suppose he gets elected mayor, quits being an Internet pervert, but dumps his wife for some bimbo anyway? That’s Scenario Two.”
“What should I advise Huma to do then?” Mindy wondered.
“In that scenario, she ought to forgive her husband,” I recommended, “and, if questioned about it, observe that people change, they are still friends, he still means a lot to her, she’s proud of him for overcoming his sexting and porno-tweeting addictions, and she hopes that her estranged husband and his new consort will be very happy together.”
“I like that,” Mindy vouched, “it makes her look very intelligent and mature. Plus, when the bimbo does embarrassing things at Gracie Mansion, everybody will feel really sorry for poor Huma.”
“Exactly,” I confirmed. “Now, Scenario Three is one in which Mr. Weiner is elected mayor of New York, does not dump Huma for a bimbo, but gets caught sexting and porno-tweeting again. If that happens, it will be essential for Huma to play the supportive spouse of a person who is fighting an addiction, which should be easy, since she’s had plenty of practice performing that particular shtick by now.”
“Okay,” Mindy sighed, “but I sort of hope that one doesn’t happen, because, like you said, Huma already has so much experience with that situation, it will be hard for me to come up with anything… you know… original to suggest.”
“True. So the best strategy there,” I advised, “would be to curry her favor by providing pithy, relevant sound-bites and exploring new angles to portray her as a long-suffering, saint-like figure.”
“Still some possibilities, even though she’s been there and done that, huh?” Mindy remarked as she continued her notes.
“Now, there are two sub-scenarios to that,” I pointed out. “Scenario Three(A) is he gets elected mayor, gets caught sexting and/or porno-tweeting again, does not dump Huma for a bimbo, but refuses to resign in the face of the inevitable uproar. In that case, she’s got to do what Hillary Clinton did during the Monica Lewinsky scandal and be the true heroine who Stands By Her Man. As Hillary so successfully demonstrated, the public eats that stuff up like high-fructose corn syrup. If Huma plays her part as well as Hillary did with Slick Willie, she could end up in the United States Senate, too.”
“Big opportunity there,” Mindy enthused, “obviously. Could be a big one for me, too, couldn’t it?
“Scenario Three(A) will definitely be one you should watch for,” I concurred, “which brings us to Scenario Three (B), in which he gets elected mayor, does not dump Huma for a bimbo, but gets caught sexting and/or porno-tweeting again, and, in fact does resign in response to the inevitable uproar.”
“Oh boy,” Mindy exhaled dramatically, “what should I advise Huma do if that happens?”
“Scenario Three(B) is rather problematic,” I observed. “He won’t be mayor of New York anymore, so there won’t be any particular advantages or opportunities for Huma. In addition, he will be completely disgraced and his future political prospects will be nil. But, on the other hand, Huma will still be stuck with him. So if Scenario Three(B) ensues, you should remind Huma that she’s just barely thirty, plus, she’s beautiful and very talented in her own right. Then see if you can arrange for her to meet a suitable replacement – of an appropriate age – who has good political prospects. Under the circumstances, it will be completely acceptable. After all, in this scenario, she’s married to an unemployed pervert whom everybody knows she has moved heaven and earth for. Consequently, nobody is going to blame Huma for moving on. Then there’s Scenario Four, where Mr. Weiner is elected mayor of New York, dumps Huma for a bimbo and also gets caught sexting and/or porno-tweeting again. In that case, Huma should distance herself from her estranged husband and play on her betrayal, because under Scenario Four, people will expect her to be hurt and disappointed. She wouldn’t be human, otherwise – here she put everything on the line for Weiner, he gets elected mayor and what does he do? He dumps her for a bimbo and also gets caught being an Internet pervert again! There’s massive potential for huge public sympathy there – tell Huma to tap that vein for all the treasure it holds.”
“Even if he resigns?” Mindy asked. “From the inevitable uproar and stuff?”
“Ah yes,” I continued, “That’s Scenario Four(B), which will be less problematic that Scenario Three(B), because she won’t still be stuck with Weiner. Take advantage of the fact that Weiner will be perceived as an ungrateful cad for running off with the bimbo. The public will want his long-suffering wife to show him a thing or two, you can bet on that. Therefore, arranging a good alternative for Huma should be much easier than if she was still stuck with that loser of a husband. In fact, you should consider strategies for screening her various suitors so she gets the best deal possible.”
“So what about… um… Scenario Four(A), I guess,” Mindy pondered, “where he gets elected mayor, dumps Huma for a bimbo, gets caught sexting and tweeting his junk and stuff, but refuses to resign?”
“Since, under that scenario, he would still be mayor of New York,” I counseled, “you should advise Huma to not get involved with a replacement unless he’s somebody of equal stature – say, a US Senator for example; but not a Representative, though, those generally aren’t important enough to compete with mayor of New York. A major member of Obama’s cabinet would do, but there aren’t a lot of possibilities there. And as far as mayors go, only a mayor of a comparable city, such as Chicago, Los Angeles, Boston, Washington or San Francisco would do. Again, the pickings are bound to be rather slim. No, under Scenario Four(A), Huma should consider the virtues of celibacy, throw herself into her work and patiently wait for Mayor Weiner, his bimbo and his cell phone to collectively react and explode.”
“Okay, but what if he doesn’t get elected mayor of New York?” Mindy implored. “What then?”
“Scenario Five,” I slowly intoned, “he doesn’t get elected mayor, he doesn’t dump Huma for a bimbo and he quits being an Internet pervert. Then, basically, given all the publicity and history involved, Anthony Weiner will be forever known thereafter as Huma Abedin’s husband. Advise Huma to see it that way. Scenario Six – he doesn’t get elected mayor, he quits being an Internet pervert, but he runs off with a bimbo. In that case, tell Huma she ought to be understanding about it, praise her estranged husband for reforming his nasty habits and start looking for a suitable replacement. Scenario Seven, he doesn’t get elected mayor, he dumps Huma for a bimbo and gets caught being an Internet pervert again. In that case, Huma gets to say good riddance to bad trash and everybody will cheer. That leaves us with Scenario Eight, however.
“You mean,” Mindy concluded, “where he doesn’t get elected mayor, he doesn’t run off with a bimbo, but he gets caught sexting or porno-tweeting again?”
“Correct,” I affirmed. “Under which circumstances, Huma should get her demented, unemployed husband committed to a mental hospital for intensive treatment of severe, chronic perverted sex addiction. Doing so will prove that she’s a caring, loving wife, so good and saintly, he scarcely deserves her. All that will be absolute dynamite when Huma decides to run for office herself, with Weiner standing next to her side, pumped full of tranquilizers and mood enhancers – and cured at last, Great God Almighty, cured at last!”
“Lots of potential there, obviously,” Mindy remarked as she packed up her phablet and shook my hand. “Thanks, Mr. Collins, your help is much appreciated and I won’t forget this.”
“And also,” I called out after her as she approached the door, “there’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?” Mind inquired.
“Scenario Eight,” I opined, “is probably the most likely.”
“Outstanding!” Mindy exulted, flashing me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “I’ve always thought her husband is a creepy jerk!”