Anthony Weiner is the political genius of our age. I say this as one with no small knowledge of political arts, having served a term on the Village Council of Minerva, as most of you know, and having run eight times for office. The essential thrust of politics is to get attention, and Weiner is undoubtedly the master. Look at him—only 48 years old, a household name, on a second comeback before most men have even reached a climax.

So far, you surely see nothing to censure in me. Admiration of the great is a laudable instinct and part of how humanity improves itself. You don’t yet fathom why I am issuing this preemptive apology. Well, I am afraid my devotion to the art of politics combined with my admiration for the skills of Anthony Weiner will lead me to a dark place.

First, let me apologize to Gina, the waitress at Cliff’s Eatin’ Place. I have already figured out that you use the Twitter handle @ggstarlover, because I know you’re friends with Len, and I’m friends with him, too, at least on Twitter. The idea has occurred to me that it would start quite a scandal if I were to send you an inappropriate picture of myself. Once an idea like that gets into your head, and you see the genius of it, the sheer Weiner-like genius of it, normal boundaries of ethics and propriety will seem like things that can only stop lesser men.

So, after a long night wrestling with both my moral concerns and my boundless ambition, the ambition will win out. Curse my restless need to excel! Well, as is the case with Anthony Weiner, it is part and parcel of what makes me a leader. I cannot give up my ambition without giving up something that could be of great value to humanity, or at least the 3,000-plus residents of Minerva.

After a first attempt to take a proper Weiner shot, I will be hampered by some modesty, particularly about the creases that become visible when I have no pants on. I know this vanity is a weakness that impedes me as a leader, and I apologize to all people of Minerva and in fact the world for that.

And, to Gina, I apologize for the picture of my partially clothed bicep that you will receive at 3:44 a.m. on Wednesday morning. I know it will confuse you as much as offend you. But I apologize for the attempt to deceive you about my physical condition that will lead me to use a tennis ball to push up the fat of my upper arm into a muscle-like hump. If I had learned more about Anthony Weiner’s exercise regimen before this, I could have avoided this shameful deception.

To whoever checks the “Tips Line” email address for both the Minerva Scribe and Messenger and the Cleveland Plain Dealer, I apologize for the screenshot of my tweet that I will send to you under the name Harry Rights, in order to get you started investigating the scandal. I suspect you will uncover much that will trouble you and make you wonder about how the burdens of leadership can pervert a man as you delve into my life, but such is the price I pay as a public figure who is so widely known.

To my parents, I apologize for all of the snickering you will hear and all of the averted gazes from long-time friends, and because, as you will put it when we meet at Sunday dinner, you “have to live in this goddamn town.”

Finally, to my campaign staff, aka, the young woman at the Kinkos in Canton, I must apologize that, once I suspend my campaign, I will not be able to see you anymore and give you those encouraging bon mots of career and life advice as I hand you flyers to be copied.

Read other preemptive apologies:

Amanda Beckinwith, before she has an extra-marital affair

LeBron James, before he doesn’t do something, whatever it is, that you think he should