If his body rub hanky panky does scotch it, that is, which I highly doubt, given the sordidness of the story and the Canucki lamestream media's reluctance to pounce on this sort of thing (when a lefty's involved, I mean: were, say, Maxime Bernier or another Tory involved, they'd be on it quicker than you can say, "How much extra for a happy ending"?).
So what's my suggested book title?
When the Shiatsu Hit the Fan
Update: As I commented over at BCF's blog, it's the Eliot Spitzer-like hypocrisy that most rankles. For, as the Toronto Sun reports, Layton's visits to a Chinatown chicken-choking establishment coincided with his railing at City Hall against strip clubs' lap-dancing. (Obviously, he did protesteth waaay too much.)
I was thinking, too, in a terribly politically incorrect fashion, that it might be amusing to tie together the "Kung Fu Fighting" kerfuffle in the U.K. and Layton's pantsless adventures in Chinatown. Hence this:
Everybody was Kung Fu rubbing.
Those gals gave some good tugging.
In fact if Olivia's words you're believin'
It was quite stress-relievin'...
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