Just like the Tiger Woods debacle, the Jesse James screwtastrophy continues to crank out detail after creepy, Hitler–lovin’ detail. The latest? James took part in a foursome
with tattoo shop owner Eric McDougall and his receptionist named…wait for it…Skittles Valentine.
Pause to gag and shudder.
Moving on. There are many disturbing things about the story (hello: unprotected sex with a person who calls herself SKITTLES!!) but it was the following McDougall quote (speaking to Life and Style) that really got under my skin: "Michelle came into my shop and was like, 'I'd like to introduce you to my boyfriend…I recognized Jesse right away."
Why does this bug me so much, you ask? Because it speaks to the fact that James was not trying to be sneaky AT ALL! It's like he had an absolutely certain belief in his own bulletproof-ness. There’s a fancier word for it, and it’s narcissism. I wonder if (after so many recent sex scandals) the shrinks-that-be will roll out a new psychiatric diagnosis of “sexual narcissism” wherein a person is so fueled, so driven by their own sexual
acting out that they exist in an absurd, delusional reality with no fear of consequence.
Oh, by the way, I guess he was getting hand jobs from random strippers
too. (Sidenote: Did Sandra not have a single friend in Cali that could pick up the phone and say “Yoo-hoo! Sandy, babe, that loser husband of yours is waltzing all over the West side with a racist hoochie. Call me.”)Discuss
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