No More ***, Please

We interrupt the regularly scheduled post with this news-related rant. My apologies for the delicate subject matter.

OK, I've had it. No more ***, please. You know what I'm talking about -- the word that begins with an "s" and ends with an "x." No, I'm not taking a vow of celibacy. I just don't want to read about other people's *** in my morning paper. Or hear about it on the car radio. Or see it on the TV news.

I live in New Jersey, about 25 miles from New York. Both states where, apparently, if you are a governor, you can't keep Mr. Happy in your trousers.

First there was New Jersey Governor Jim McGreevey, who announced to the world a few years ago that he was a gay American. (Apparently, his wife was the only one in the state who didn't know.) Frankly, I don't care. I just really didn't want to hear about it when driving up the Parkway with four teenagers in the car, coming back from a vacation down the shore. Sheesh.

Then last week, it was New York Governor Eliot Spitzer, the former law and order prosecutor who was linked to a high-priced escort service. Yes, I understand what a terrific story it was -- Mr. Ball-buster gets, well, busted. I get it. I just really don't need to have breathless helicopter coverage of his motorcade stuck in traffic while trying to reach his office in midtown Manhattan, where he might (might not?) resign. Enough already.

Monday, it was McGreevey's turn again. The former governor's driver announces that he enjoyed "Friday Night Specials" (his words, not mine) with both Mr. and Mrs. McGreevey. At the same time. Eeeeuwww.

And finally, the new governor of New York, whose name hasn't even registered with me yet, told reporters yesterday that he and his wife have both had exta-marital affairs. The tabloids rushed to fill in the details. Let's just say that now I have another reason to never stay at a Motel 9.

To any future officeholder: For the love of God, I'm begging ya, buddy -- keep 'em zipped. Your pants and your mouth. Sharing a little too much with your secretary? I don't want to know about it. A little too interested in the family dog? Please don't go there. Anything that involves both the secretary and the dog, while dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz?
I. Don't. Want. To. Know.

That's not too much to ask, is it?