“…honestly I was too blacked out to remember what happened that day anyway…”
A lot of people seem worried that former Fox News host Pete Hegseth might become the Secretary of Defense. Those worries stem from allegations of sexual misconduct and alcohol abuse both on and off the clock at work.
The man whose Fox News colleagues call “Petey Wifebeaty” called me this morning though, armed with a new line of defense against the worst of the allegations.
According to “Drinky Pete,” which is what his former non-profit coworkers call him, accusations that he raped a woman and then paid her off in a settlement are all “libtarded lies,” and that there was no way he could have raped the woman at the center of those allegations because, essentially, he was too drunk for his dick to work. I called him at 6:30 AM, hoping to catch Pete before his breakfast scotches. I was too late for that, but luckily I did manage to call before Hegseth had drunk his pre-lunch, post-breakfast scotches, and he agreed to talk to me about this whole situation.
“Hey, hey, hey. Lem…lem…lemme just say something here, okay, motherrr…fuckerr, okay,” Pete was a little out of sorts as he spoke to me, but I hung in there with him, and after a few more minutes of sputtering, burping, and vomiting, he composed himself and went on. “First of off, I don’t gotta drinkin’ problem, cuz I got no problem drinkin’!”
Pete laughed very hard for a very long time at his own joke.
“But, seriously, no way I raped that bitch, or any other bitch — WHO I TOTALLY RESPECT AS A WOMAN…”
Hegseth burped but literally didn’t stop talking as he yelled at me on the other end of the line.
“…AND THINK ALL BITCHES CAN TOTALLY BE IN COMBAT BECAUSE WE COULD ALWAYS USE AN EXTRA FEW THOUSAND COOKS FOR CHOW AT NIGHT AFTER WE KICK ASS ON THE BATTLEFIELD THAT DAY…”
Another burp/laugh was unleashed, but this time it came with some frothy vomit.
“Oh man, I got puke on my fuckin’ crotch, bro,” Pete continued, but seeing his groin must have triggered a memory in his booze-soaked synapses because he continued, “OH YEAH! Dude! That’s how I know didn’t rape her! My dick! My fuckin’ dick, man!”
Now Pete was cackling. I told him I didn’t understand why he was laughing.
“Don’t you see man, my dick wouldn’t work because I had, that day, ingested no less than a quart of whiskey an hour for the five hours I was awake that day, man!”
Was he really telling me he had whiskey dick and that’s why he couldn’t rape someone that day? I asked him if that’s what I was hearing.
“Well, hell yeah that’shwhatcher hearing, dummy! I had whiskey dick for sure.”
How can be so positive about having whiskey dick that day, I asked him.
“Because on the days I don’t have whiskey dick, I have scotch dick, or vodka dick, or gin dick, that’s why, idiot. God, you’re so dumb, like a woman, who I totally would support in combat, or whatever bullshit I’m supposed to say. Besides, honestly I was too blacked out to remember what happened that day anyway, so…CHECKMATE, LIB!”
Pete hung up.
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