"i don't whore around on my wife...i want people to understand that I would never disrespect my God, my wife or my children."--Kwame Kilpatrick
Forget Hillary Clinton. At least, for the moment. Let's take a look at the great state of Michigan (and not for the reason you think). I'm talking about local politics now. And God help you if you have to move to Detroit. It's any wonder if they've been watching the spectacle that is the national presidential campaign season at all, with the freak show they've got going on right in their own backyard. Kwame Kilpatrick, a young, relatively handsome young man with an attractive family, a great education, and a mother in national politics (more on her later), was the youngest and first Black to be elected mayor of Motor City. A golden, hometown boy, Kwame was celebrated nationwide in the vein of an up-and-coming Harold Ford, Jr. Instead, he's crashed and burned somewhere around Marion Barry. And he has escaped the venom of this site long enough. This man had all the opportunity in the world in this position to catapult himself to the top in politics, but he has instead managed to mar his two terms in office with (and I'm not joking about any of these items): a raunchy, frat-style booty party in the Mayor's mansion, in which his ghettofabulous wife, Carlita, is rumored to have returned home from vacation in the middle of and raised holy hell; a dead stripper that performed at said party whose violent murder remains a mystery, but whom was shot in her car when she began running off at the mouth about her performance at the shindig; severe misappropriation of funds, including the purchase of a fire-engine red Navigator truck with city funds and a $9,000 vacay for his family, also on the city's dollar; and last but not least, a steamy affair with his chief of staff, documented for the world to see in exchanged text messages, which he vehemently denied for years (see quote above). Of course, he was lying. So, as you can see, Kwame's been busy. Now, he's been asked to leave office nicely and given several hints that it was time to pack up, but he has insisted that this "mistreatment" is racially-motivated (of course, most of the city council and press are [painfully] Black) and that because he's been called a nigger "more than he ever has in his entire life" in the past few months, he deserves a pass. Over the course of his service to the city, he's had his defenders. His mother, a congresswoman apparently drinking the Ignorance Kool-Aid with which Detroit water faucets drip, even hopped on a dais to remind the city to stay behind her civic-minded spawn. His wife, who evidently fancies herself the Beyonce of Motown, has stuck by his side, although one suspects she kicks him--hard--on purpose in bed all night. Last but not least, his secret lover and former chief of staff--just as hood as the other two women in his life--isn't giving up any [true] information on the man her texts demonstrate she was pulling to be babydaddy, either. And now some key citizens of the city of Detroit would, finally, like to kick him as well--to the curb. And much like a national figure I won't speak of, he's singing an encore of "And I Am Telling You" in response. Well, at least HRC has one thing going for her--even though she and her husband have to contend for many a scandal, I can say one thing for she and Bill: at least they don't have text messages to prove it.