This dialogue is a dramatization, but like everything in Hollywood these days, it’s based on a true story. One that is anything but new and original.  The ancient Greeks, who invented everything including inventing things, had a specific God for these very characteristics.  His name was Priapus.  Priapus was the son of Aphrodite, and like many of the people about to be mentioned, he was extremely lustful and very ugly. His hunormous phallus was said to ward off the evil eye and bring good fortune, and fertility to… ehem… “gardens.”  At this point in time, it’s all too clear that the son of bitch is alive and well.

Yes, it’s officially Global Sex Scandal Month, and this year, like years past, there are several high profile cases invoking the spirit of the great cock deity.

Dominique Strauss-Kahn, or DSK, as the post-modern news cycle has labeled him, resigned as head of the IMF amid allegations that he raped a maid at the Sofitel in Manhattan. Here is a man who could have whatever he wants, wherever he wants, with a dollop of Hollandaise sauce, or crème fraiche considering the course, and he sets his sights on a cleaning woman. Why?  Was she that irresistible?  Was it some Oedipal fetish involving an apron and a duster?  Or perhaps the purely visceral, alluring sweat and ammonia odiferous-ness?

I have been to the Sofitel Hotel, and I must say, nice as the hospitality staff may be, the hostesses in the bar and the female concierges are a buttload more attractive.  But alas, they’re a little higher up the food chain, and probably harder to bed in a lunch hour.

So a globally renown powerhouse, the likely next president of France on the Socialist ticket, sets his lofty sites on the local toilet bowl scrubber, and via force, no less.

It could all be a set up. As we know from every executive employed by Goldman Sachs, you are innocent until convicted.  But a small hurricane of whispers about Strauss-Kahn’s previous sexually predatory behavior has begun an ominous swirl.

Anthony Weiner lived up to Brett Favre’s name when he took advantage of social media to tweet his weinee to a few women and then denied it for as long as he deemed viable.  A “probe” revealed he was lying, at which point he nobly said what he did was “regrettable” as opposed to illegal.  A timely unforced error for Republicans to take advantage of. Now the news cycles can focus on the Democratic unethical behavior instead of their electoral gains. One can only fathom, awestruck, that the man sacrificed it all without even getting some.

On to Freddy Goodwin, former honcho at Royal Bank of Scotland, who was accused in the British Parliament this week of enacting a “super-injunction” in hopes of burying an extramarital affair with a young Lewisnky type, to reference our own Testosterone and Chief. One can only gawk in awe at how deep this dickslap had to dig, how desperate and arrogant he had to be to reach for this forceful slight of hand crock of total bullshit dodge tactic. It’s worse than Dean Wormer’s “double secret probation” for god’s sakes. Super-injunction? Seriously?

Also this week, German insurer Munich Re confessed to enganging the talents of twenty hookers to reward its top hundred salesmen at a shindig it threw in Budapest. The ladies wore armbands designating their status. White bands serviced the top sellers. Blue for those who did well, but not great. And red for your average doorknocker.  The women were then stamped, literally, I’m not kidding, stamped on the arm to track the “goods” they provided and were to be compensated for. Thank the lordy lord no one thought of using the punch card system. That could have gotten bloody.

On our own soil, we learned of Schwarzenegger’s fifteen-year affair with his cleaning lady, with whom he fathered a son, now 13, bought a house, and gave a monthly allowance to.  Not to besmirch the victim further, but the pictures of her released from myspace showed her to be—how to put this— not aesthetically endowed. One can only muse on the progeny the Terminator and a cleaning woman have produced. An indestructable housekeeper from the future with an Austrian accent?

The question remains, WTF? Why, with so many options at your penis tip, finger tips, including, in several cases, beautiful women you’ve MARRIED, would you chose the impulsive fuck with the lowest level personal you can find?  Shouldn’t we all be denouncing the fantasy as much as the action?  If you’ve got it all, by god, get busted with the Brazilian Synchronized Swimming team sitting on your face!  They like money and power too.

It is the oldest story on papyrus. The Greeks spoke of Hubris, (and they invented speaking, so they should know. No one spoke before them: the Egyptians just marched around making angular gestures with their hands and feet; it was a crampy way to communicate.) Hubris is that state of pride so all encompassing, it leaves you utterly vulnerable to the smallest pebble over which you’ll trip, smash your head open and bleed to death.  In its original instantiation, hubris meant defiance of the Gods, which inevitably lead to nemesis, or downfall.  Ignore the Gods, and they will punish your ass.

Pacino summed it up succinctly in Scarface. “First, ju get de power. Then, ju get de money. Then… ju get de pussy.” What screenwriter Oliver Stone left out was, “Then, ju start screwing cleaning ladies. Then, ju realize that no one can keep their mouths shut. Then, ju end up losing everything ju ever had because ju lost de ability to judge totally stupid shit, from just slightly playing it safe.”  It’s all in the director’s cut, I think.

The answer to why these men aim so low is traced by psychologists to what we will here call “slumming.”  It’s like leading a double life.  After gala luncheons, international business deals closed on Gulf Streams, and honorariums lauding your humanitarian altruism, banging a cleaning woman without her consent is a nice change of pace, isn’t it?

Kobe certainly thought so.

Maybe it’s just a big misunderstanding. These guys are so famous/powerful/rich they’re sort of out of touch. When they check into a hotel, they just assume that forcibly penetrating the housekeeper is included in the room surcharge, like fresh towels.

Other analysts claim that people in positions of power don’t take care of themselves emotionally because they’re hand holding so many others below them. Hence, they seek the quick fix, which I guess means, sexually assaulting the person closest to you?  I just don’t buy it.

Certainly not after seeing the choices of women these guy select. Was Monica the best Bill could do?  And Alex Roderiguez’s choice? Really? Sptitzer, for all his hubris, at least picked a hot prostitute. Mark Sanford did even better not paying for it with his Argentinian. They both lost their jobs, but when the pictures of the girls skipped around the web, their status shot through the roof.

There has long been a historical link between male status and the control of sexual impulses, or lack thereof. The higher up you are, the harder it is to keep your pud in your slacks.  To be the alpha male, you gotta have quarts of testosterone pumping through your veins and some of those are inevitably in the penis.

For me, what’s most fascinating is flipping this scenario. What if women dominated the truly “thin air” positions in finance and politics? What would a surge in estrogen look like?  Would these alpha females be inhaling steaks and cocaine? Hanging out at strip clubs?  Bringing men back to the office to slap them around a bit before fucking them against their will? Setting them up in pied-à-terres without their husband’s knowledge? Cause I am totally available. You can reply to the blog if you meet all the requisite power and wealth requirements. And I, for one, promise to keep my mouth shut.