The sex scandals keep coming, and I must confess that I’m having a pretty good time. In fact, I’m put in mind of a joke Bert Black, the pride of Silver Spring, Maryland, sent me the other day.

It seems two Southern ladies were sitting together in the front pew at a revival meeting. When the preacher condemned stealing, the ladies cried out: “Amen, brother!”

When the preacher condemned lust, they shouted: “You preach it!”

And when he condemned lying they leapt to their feet and hollered: “Right on, preacher man, tell it like it is!”

But when he condemned gossiping, the two ladies remained in their seats. One turned to the other and sniffed: “Now he’s just plain meddling.”

It’s not that I approve of sexual bullying, but short of rape or child molestation, I think a lot of the current scandal boils down to hypocrisy and mass hysteria.

Let’s face it, most of the actresses and political interns know the game and have been playing it for as long as show biz and politics have existed. Heck, acting, especially in the movies, calls for actresses to be in compromising positions and various stages of undress. And that’s on camera!

The casting couch was around long before the movies had even learned to speak, and every hopeful who took the Greyhound west from Des Moines or Fargo or Louisville knew it and decided that potential stardom was worth the price.

It was hardly a secret that Hollywood big shots like Darryl Zanuck, Louis B. Mayer, Howard Hughes and Busby Berkeley treated the female contract players and chorus girls as their own personal hookers. Harry Cohn, the boss at Colombia, was reputed to have secret passageways to the dressing rooms of his female stars.

Because of their assembly line efficiency, the studios were called factories. They also happened to be harems.

As for politics, as some wag once pointed out, it’s show business for ugly people. In fact, just about the only people in Washington, DC, who aren’t, at the very least, homely, are the young interns. It figures they’re going to be treated as sexual prey. Why else would they be hired in the first place?

John F. Kennedy was a pig. So were his brothers. So was Jesse Jackson and Martin Luther King, Jr. So was Bill Clinton. And so, I believe, was Donald Trump.

I know we only have allegations that Trump was guilty of sexual misconduct, but we also heard his vile comments to Billy Bush on the bus. Besides, he was a millionaire playboy in New York, a major TV personality and the sponsor of beauty pageants. Anyone who wishes to believe that Donald Trump is a saint who hasn’t treated gorgeous women as disposable sex objects is welcome to his or her delusions, but don’t expect me to buy a ticket to Fantasyland.

Believing all this, I still voted for the man and look forward to doing so again in 2020.

That’s because I believe what he does as president is more important than what he may have done in the past. The day I pretend to care more about who groped whom than I do with who sits on the Supreme Court is the day you should stop reading me, because it will mean I have begun lying in my dotage.

When I say that I hope the Senate boots Al Franken from its ranks, it’s not because he behaved boorishly with Leeann Tweeden but because he is a liberal ignoramus who supports Planned Parenthood, the Paris accords, Black Lives Matter, antifa, open borders and higher taxes.

Frankly, I can’t imagine why Norm Coleman wasn’t able to get his hands on the photo of Franken mock-groping Ms. Tweeden when they were facing off in the 2008 Senate race. The election ended up with Franken receiving 1,212,627 votes, and Coleman 1,212,317. One can certainly blame the crooked Democratic Party of Minnesota, which had operatives “finding” boxes of ballots in closets, attics and the trunks of ‘87 Buicks that enabled Franken to eke out victory by 310 fraudulent votes.

Or, if you prefer, you can blame the 437,505 nincompoops who voted for some nebbish named Dean Barkley. In a way, we have Barkley to blame for ObamaCare, for if Coleman had won, Obama wouldn’t have had that all-important 60th vote in the Senate.

The other day, I was at the public library and noticed a new item on the shelf, a book by you-know-who titled Al Franken, the Giant of the Senate. It’s one of those titles that attempts to be humorously self-effacing, but, in reality, reflects the author’s true self-image.

From what I hear, his behavior towards Ms. Tweeden was intolerable, but at least she did have the opportunity to bite off his tongue. His staff members, on the other hand, have to learn to accept his tantrums and obscenity-laced tongue-lashings or quit under a cloud and return to their hometowns labeled failures who weren’t ready for prime time.

Of all the people who have spoken out on sexual harassment, one of the more loathsome is California House member Jackie Speier (D) who got a lot of TV exposure by claiming that there are two serial harassers in Congress, one a Democrat, one a Republican. By refusing to identify them, Ms. Speier not only turned herself into an enabler but tarred hundreds of male colleagues, placing all of them under a cloud of suspicion.

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Someone sent me a picture of Bernie Sanders with the caption, “Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I was not groped by Donald Trump, I was screwed by Hillary Clinton.”

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I couldn’t help noticing that when the three UCLA basketball players went on TV to express appreciation for Donald Trump’s rescuing them from a Chinese jail, each of them had to read his comments off a sheet of paper. In short, they were incapable of memorizing “Thank you, Mr. President, for saving us.”

That’s seven words, just 11 syllables.

I guess those athletic scholarships have as much to do with scholars as they do with ships.