As part of her long awaited scorned-mistress-finally-speaks moment, Rielle Hunter takes off her pants for GQ. Then she poses–pantless, mind you–with stuffed animals in an article describing the total legitimacy of her love for John Edwards.
Not. A. Joke.
Now we get to guess what will happen next in this public farce of a political story:
a) John Edwards will begin selling Slap Chop on late night TV, replacing the fantastic slicer-dicer’s previous spokesman, who recently got charged with beating up his $1,000 prostitute after she bit his tongue.
b) Rielle Hunter will go on Oprah wearing no shirt, or maybe Dancing With The Stars with no shoes, or maybe the Psychic Friends Network with a displaced aura.
c) Playgirl will pay someone in the Edwards family by the inch.
d) Yet another, semi-confessional, face-saving, money-making book about this disaster.
e) The Dave Matthews Band finally gets the gig.
Yipee. I can’t wait.
UPDATE: Hunter apparently called Barbara Walters to say that she found the photographs “repulsive” and confess to screaming for two hours after she first saw them. Still not joking.