Bath house Jack


Okay, I’m going to say what everybody else is thinking.

Jack Layton is a wanker.

I’m saying that after reading the story about him being “found” in a bawdy house a decade and a half ago.

When cops told him to get his buck naked ass outta there, he said he didn’t know it was a bawdy house. He was just having someone tinkle the ivories on his spine.

That’s what my father-in-law used to tell his wife, too.

It must have been, truly, a Kennedy moment.  Cue Frank Sinatra, shweethawt.

Perhaps the cop let Jack go because he was on the City of Toronto’s Police Board and the cop thought if he ticked Jackieboy off, he might not get a raise the next year. Perhaps the cop was giving him a warning.

Look, here’s my take, for what it’s worth.

If Jack was, in fact, on the premises for  a hand or a blow, so what?

He was free, white and middle-aged. He wasn’t hurting anyone.

He was merely helping the bottom line of a hardworking lad or lady.

Truly a man of the people.

A lot of us would give him a high-five.

But…

If Jack, in fact, was on the premises for a massage, as both he and wife Olivia proclaim, I say: “Wasted opportunity, Jackieboy. You really are a wanker.”

Jack seems like a smart guy.

He knows how to use big words and metaphors. He has a vision for Canada.

So how could he not know he was at the Chicken Ranch?

Usually, there are telltale signs.

Like a condominator in the corner. Gloves over a garbage bin. Handcuffs on the chair.

You get the drill.

“No, officer, I didn’t see promotion for two-for-one dildos. That’s lube; I thought it was hand sanitizer.”

Imagine, just imagine, his surprise when he’s there with Svend or Svetlana, wearing nothing but his Sunday smile — and the cops come in!

“Boy, Jackieboy, you’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do.”

We all know that Jackieboy is a fast talker.

But what a story. I nearly peed myself when I read it in the morning paper. 

Thanks Toronto Sun guy for ending this campaign on a high note.

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