He, Thee and T.B.

This man. Andrew Speaker, would appreciate your forgiveness. He's a lawyer. This is not a common emotion or practice among these people. So let's diagnose the case, if you will.

Let's call him Shole. As in As Shole. Shole knew he had the plague. He knew he was good looking, a lawyer, a person of privilege to whom the rules of human engagement apply only at his whim.

He sent his wife and someone else's child ahead to Europe - where most of us marry - to await his arrival for the big day. Far be it from the Federal Government, Homeland Security, The Border Patrol or the Centers For Disease Control to stand between this tool and the desires of his....well....heart.

We gave him the benefit of the doubt upon first hearing his tale. God knows, we have gotten on board all manner of man and aircraft without knowing what fate might reveal. That was until we realized he had hauled his daddy, also a lawyer, into the airport to discuss the technical aspects of our country's wish that he not be around other human beings - particularly within enclosed spaces like airplanes, or crossing international borders. Failing to be swayed from his dick's date with destiny, Shole boarded the plane, evaded the border patrol when ordered to report back to the U.S. and immediately check in at the CDC, and decided to have his own nicely appointed room done up for him in Denver, where the view is evidently preferable to the CDC Compound.

But he is profoundly regretful.

Of course he is. Lindsay is sorry she's a coke head. Paris is sorry she's a drunk driver. Isaiah is sorry he hates fags. Bill Richardson profoundly regrets both Jew and Fag comments. Elizabeth is sorry she was born. Rosie is sorry she didn't rip the little bitch's head off instead of commissioning a moustache on her photo. Donald is sorry he got cancelled (you heard it here first...scroll back). And Dahmer was sorry he hadn't seasoned the thighs a little more before serving them. "Sorry" no longer seems to be the hardest word. It just seems the most hollow.

"Sorry" is the reaction you have when they tied you up against your wishes and heaved you into coach where you coughed on all old ladies all the way across the Atlantic. "Sorry" is what you say when the neighbor's poodle attacks your lawn mower and loses. "Sorry" is the appropriate response when your neighbor's well-intended casserole re-appeared on their front lawn by no fault of your own. You're sorry it happened. It was outside your control, yet the outcome was tragic and worthy of commiseration.

"Sorry" is not when you make a conscious decision to put people in harm's way. "I'm a World Class Asshole" is the phrase that comes to mind when you buy yourself the trans-Atlantic ticket to hack Tuberculosis into a recycled air environment on a group of people whose health may already be precarious. "I'm a Motherfucker" is what you say when you chase the neighbor's poodle with the lawnmower until you turn it into Kibbles and Fur. "Just shoot me" is what you say when you take an Arsenic-laced casserole to your evil neighbor's dinner party and their kid dies.

Being pretty buys you a lot of privilege in this society. But sweetie...you're just not T.B. Pretty.