Al Gore is a crazed sex poodle
It’s too bad that these days being accused of sexual assault is tantamount to being convicted of it. To hear that Al Gore — AL GORE??? — is the latest, er, victim of this phenomenon is simultaneously baffling and saddening. Not to mention weird, considering the tale involves a “crazed sex poodle.” And that poodle is Gore.
In case you haven’t picked up the latest issue of the National Enquirer yet (and, really, who has?), their latest reason to blaze “SEX ATTACK” across the cover is a story coming out of Portland, Oregon, where an unidentified, uh, masseuse claims that the former vice president and inventor of the internet sexually attacked her in a hotel room during a massage session. The incident purportedly took place in 2006, and the charge for services rendered was $540. Gore was never charged.
“Our investigative team [HA. -- ed.] uncovered the amazing story just weeks after the former Vice President announced that he and wife TIPPER were ending their 40-year marriage – amidst reports she suspected her husband was involved with ‘a gorgeous massage therapist.’”
The problem with a story like this one is that once it hits the internet, all bets are off. Bloggers seize on this dramatic tale without, you know, ever pausing to wonder, oh, whether or not the story might actually be true. Since, after all, whether or not the story is true might actually be relevant to the story itself. But, hey, who cares about all that! Nowadays, “truth” is an antiquated concept, having been felled to the almighty demands of SEO and related BS. Because who cares about truth when you’ve got page views to get, amiright?
(Of course, the Enquirer did get that whole JOHN EDWARDS LOVE CHILD story right, but an exception does not a rule make.)
It’s possible this masseuse’s claims are true and that she was sexually assaulted by Al Gore. But if everyone could stop clickety-clacketying at their keyboards for a moment, and, novel idea!, read the accuser’s statement to the police, one might begin to question if this story is true at all. Because her statement? It sure reads like she’s full of shit.
The 54-year-old masseuse’s 2009 statement to the Portland police regarding whatever happened at the grandly named Hotel Lucia reeks of half-truths and histrionics, to say the very least. The Smoking Gun describes it thusly: “Masseuse’s claims read like R-rated vice presidential fan fiction.” Boy, do they! If you can bear to get through the entire 73-page PDF (do not recommend), you will find a sordid tale in which the accuser explains she is a licensed masseuse approximately 95 times, states she was summoned by staff at the hotel to visit a “VIP” guest for a massage at 10:30 PM on October 24, 2006 (aren’t most massages after, say, 8 PM inherently erotic in nature?), coughs, like, 700 times (suspicious!), is greeted by the ex-VP with the line, “Call me Al” (literary allusion?), who hugs her weirdly, turns down the lights, and asks her to massage his inner-thighs (as a woman, I can assure you that this means one thing and one thing only). Call Me Al gets shouty and demanding and moans in a way that indicates he wants his abdominal area massaged. Actual line from the masseuse: “I got a tiny bit mad under my terror.” WHAT? Were you wearing a tiny hat, too? Then Gore puts her hand on Lil’ Gore in a demanding fashion and shouts: “THERE.” I guess that is one way to get a hand job. Or not. “I felt like I was dancing on the edge of a razor,” she confesses in what one can only imagine was a breathless way of speaking to the police. Gore gets angry and she describes him as “Teflon coated.” Next, Gore starts asking her to release his second chakra. She fantasizes about doing a “little Spock hold” on him. Eventually, Mr. VP No More gets up, wraps her in an “inescapable embrace,” gives her a “‘come hither’ look,” and grabs her boobs and butt. That’s when she tells him, in no uncertain terms, “You’re being a crazed sex poodle,” which is totally the most awesome line in the whole thing, and, frankly, I could see Gore being a total crazed sex poodle, but that’s another story for another time. She distracts him by pointing at some chocolates, and he busts out the Grand Marnier. He kisses her and smooshes his erection into her. She refers to him as “Mr. Smiley Global Warming.” He humps her, she calls him a “lummox,” and there are political references. When she gets home, she finds “stains” on the back of her black slacks, which she didn’t launder on account of her “intuition,” which is pretty much why I never do my laundry either. It goes on and on, but suffice to say: fin.
Frankly, I have no idea what the hell happened in that hotel room. If she was there. If Gore was there. If Al is, in fact, a crazed sex poodle. Anything is possible. Although, if she is telling the truth, she sure knows how to garble it and make it sound like a load of crap. I, myself, have lay upon many a massage table, and while I have never demanded release of my second chakra, I have talked to various women massage therapists about how they deal with situations like this, and never a one described anything remotely like this.
What is this, then? Al Gore porn.
“The woman recently … offered to sell her story to the National Enquirer for $1 million,” The Smoking Gun reports. O RLY? Color me stunned.