Taking A Leak On Dennis Hastert

Poor Denny Hastert. You can pity him or you can laugh at him (I choose the latter) but you can't blame any but him for his predicament.Seems Mr Hastert is upset about the FBI searching the office of a colleague involved in a bribery scandal. While it was heartwarming to see a Republican stand up for the rights of a Democrat, one has to wonder where he was when all the recent revelations about the NSA spy scandal were afoot.
Where was he? On the floor of the House belly up, surrendering all our Constitutional rights to unreasonable searches and seizures to the "Unitary Executive", a mythological creature created by the neocons in the Bush administration to pass more power to a man who deserves less power. Sorry, Mr. Hastert, but you are not part of that scam, so the protection they receive (under the guise of "national security") isn't extended to you. Little did you realize that when you were giving up our freedoms (to make us more free, if you can believe that), that you were included with us, not them.
So like all the defenders of the NSA program say, if you don't have anything to hide, then you have nothing to worry about (Big Brother is watching you!). As it turns out, maybe Mr. Hastert does have something to hide! (Whaddya know? A corrupt politician). It seems Mr Hastert is part of a wide-ranging corruption probe by the Justice Department related to the Abramoff scandal. Which was being kept on the qt, until Denny opened his big fat mouth (and it is big and fat) and complained about the FBI searching Rep. Jefferson's office. Then, it seems, Mr. Hastert was thrown to the lions (not really, just the corporate media)by somebody who leaked his name. The White House is, as usual, denying any involvement, much the same as they denied having any part in the leaking of Valerie Plame's name in retaliation for her husband pointing out the Niger Yellow Cake Uranium documents used by the Bush Administration were forgeries. If you believe that the White House wasn't involved, I have a '96 Buick that was only driven by a sweet old lady on weekends trips to the local Indian Casino I'd like to sell you. Because if you can't see a pattern of intimidation here, you probably won't notice the cigarettte burns in the back seat.