Cheers To Huma…

Did you hear cheers earlier this week? Women of the world erupted in joy with the announcement. Huma finally left, releasing herself from the bondage of a buffoon, tossing off the albatross round her neck. Politics aside, the woman is a badass of the highest order. The last thing she needs is a penis blocking the road to chief of staff.
Those who neither send nor receive dick picks on the reg have always been perplexed. Thank Sweet Baby Jesus Huma finally hit delete. She separated earlier this week from the serial dick show that has been her marriage, hopefully to fully fly to the heights of which her brains, experience and yes, resiliency, can take her.
And Anthony, pathetic Anthony, hopefully slithers off like the snake he is—see what I did there? Snake, slither, dick? He’s lost his wife, his family and career by acting, well, like a dick. Regardless of the compulsion, or trendy sickness from which he may suffer, the time has come to face the music. Not only has he humiliated his wife publicly; he continues to make it worse by claiming he did nothing inappropriate.

Personal opinions call bullshit. He recited vows—you know those things in front of God, family and friends ensuring wives can reasonably expect a no sharing policy on their husband’s nether regions? Vows concerning faithfulness lead those in white dresses to believe the neighbors won’t be subject to boner shots. Assumptions run the gamut of expectation that penises, and all their games, will remain at home.

It baffles that incredibly amazeballs women stay with lousy partners. Granted, marriage has ups and downs and ins and outs and good and bad. I get that a woman can forgive and attempt to move on for the sake of vows, religious beliefs, children and love. Love is rarely drowned with the bath water. The bond, along with the hopes and dreams, does not die an easy death. It can be circuitous, embarrassing and tortuous.

Huma Girl deserves a medal and an academy award for patience and performance. In the recently released documentary, Weiner, Carlos Danger reveals himself as a self-absorbed blow hard to Huma’s quiet, dignified nature. He is a bull in a china shop blustering his way through the city in the way New Yorkers earn their stereotype. Heads up New Yorkers—the rest of us find the accent and crowing silly, unnecessary and bullyish. Unlike Weiner in the coffee shop arguing with a customer, we would rather wave off your bravado and get to work on time. We have shit to do that doesn’t include yelling and arm waving.

What women hope for Huma is a future of peace, prosperity and props for her hard work. Unlikely since the girl is tethered to the most unpopular presidential candidate in history. Too bad Huma isn’t the veep nominee. Squees would abound come impeachment time.


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