DC Trawler

Another inconvenient truth, Al: Happy endings cost extra

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Leading off Drudge right now:

Oh my goodness! An unnamed Oregon masseuse is claiming that back in 2006, Al Gore tried to make her touch his ding-ding in a mommy-daddy way. The Smoking Gun has her statement to the police, and it’s a doozy. Here are some highlights.

She starts off by describing the pre-rubdown interview, where she asked him where it hurt:

He described a grueling travel schedule over the previous week or two, mostly by air, and he said he needed his gluteus, hamstring, quadriceps and adductors worked on as well as his abdominal area besides his back and whole body…. I mentally noted that a request for adductor work is a bit unusual. In the massage world, sometimes it is said to possibly but rarely be that it’s a precursor to inappropriate behavior by a male client but it’s not necessarily out of the range of professional treatment.

The adductors are the inner thighs. So in Al’s case, it would be a matter of excavation.

Then it starts getting creepy:

When I began doing the requested abdominal work on him, he became somewhat vocal with muffled moans etc. he began demanding that I go lower and massaging on the abdominal area. I was shocked and I did not massage beyond what is considered a “safe, non sexual area” of the abdomen. He further insisted and acted angry, becoming verbally sharp and loud. I went into much deeper shock as I realized it appeared he was demanding sexual favors or sexual behaviors.

Girth in the balance! After she tried to change the climate in the room by asking him to show her what he meant, oh my, oh dear:

He grabbed my right hand hard, shoved it down under the sheet to his pubic hair area, my fingers brushing against his penis and firmly planted my hand on his pubic crest region and said to me, “There!” in a very sharp, loud, angry-sounding tone.

After she refused to do anything for his hanging chad and he yelled at her for a little bit:

He was moaning, groaning, moving and acting in a a very suggestive way. It was unreal.

She then describes her terror at being stuck in a room with such a prominent person with so much security around him and such media adoration, and her fear that any attempt to flee or call for help would only cause trouble for her and ruin her professional reputation. Then more creepy stuff:

He then tried another tactic as though he had very suddenly switched personalities and began in a pleading tone, pleading for release of his second chakra there. There’s so much tension being held. This was yet another euphemism for sexual activity he was requesting put cleverly as though it were a spiritual request or something. I was further deeply shocked and repulsed as my realization of what was happening sunk in and especially as my mind was now reeling from this absolute betrayal by someone I had inherently trusted as a good guy who cares about people including me because of his public persona.

Did I mention she says she voted for him in 2000? You’d think she’d have learned her lesson after that.

After doing some non-sexy massage on him and trying to get the hell out of there:

He engaged me in small talk as I headed for my massage table to break it down. And he came over to where I was while I was trying to pack up and then he wrapped me in an inescapable embrace as I turned around, giving me this “come hither” look deep into my eyes and caressed my back and buttocks and breasts. I squirmed to try and get out of his grasp, telling him to stop, don’t, several times and I finally told him and said, You’re being a crazed sex poodle, hoping that he’d realize how weird he was being yet he persisted.

She really thought she could get Al Gore to stop doing something by convincing him he was behaving weirdly? When has that ever worked?

She then tried to distract him with chocolates, which sounds plausible enough. He then allegedly forced her to drink some Grand Marnier and allegedly started kissing her and rubbing up on her and she describes him as “rotund” and he had condoms and savage mood swings and he made her go in the bedroom to listen to “Dear Mr. President” by Pink and I can’t read anymore of this.

Oh yeah, and she claims to still have the pair of slacks she was wearing that day, stained with Gore-goo from his open-robed dry-humping. Atheists, next time somebody asks you why you don’t believe in God, this will serve as very compelling evidence.

Whether or not you buy any of this depends on whether or not you believe Al Gore is the kind of guy who thinks he should have whatever he wants, throws temper tantrums when he doesn’t get it, and doesn’t allow reason or empathy to stand in his way. Does that sound like Al Gore to you?

Jim Treacher