So the President of the United States may or may not have participated in acts of naughtiness with a 21-year-old intern. He may or may not have launched a campaign of lies to cover it up (a bad call, if it’s true — a safer strategy would have been to suck it up, be a man and have her killed).

The first allegation is not so disturbing, at least to this columnist. On the whole, I find people who are sexually satisfied to be more level-headed, stable, and reliable than the chronically unfulfilled. Sexual frustration of one variety or another is to blame for a great many of the world’s problems and, in a way, it could be argued that the President’s (allegedly) prolific sex life might even make him a better man for the job.

Bear with me here… Everybody, whether they admit it or not, wants sex. Some may not even realize it. But pent-up sexual energy always finds an outlet — healthy or otherwise. At least Bill Clinton’s outlet was a hot young coed and not a nuclear war.

Not that I’m condoning adultery, or any other kind of sexual exchange in which both parties are not fully willing, cognizant and sympathetic participants. But at the same time, isn’t it kind of satisfying to know that the President is a human being too? He may be something of a dirty old man, but the idea that he can still appreciate an attractive woman is strangely comforting to me. In a weird way, I feel like Bill Clinton represents me and my generation in a way Reagan and Bush never could. If you catch my drift.

But sadly, the moral crisis at hand is not merely a question of whether the President committed an act of impropriety (which, in and of itself, has about as much impact on the workings of the Executive branch as the outcome of the Bud Bowl). If this were the case, justice would be as simple as making Clinton stand on a little platform in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue with a bright red letter “A” on his chest.

The alarming truth is that it looks a lot like the President may have lied, cheated and obstructed justice — a White House scandal of Nixonian proportions. This disturbs me deeply, much more so than any transgression, real or imagined, of Puritan conventions.

Clinton denies everything, of course, and I want to believe him. For his sake and for the sake of the presidency, I hope none of it is true. But things do not look good for our Commander in Chief. Unlike Ronald Reagan, Clinton won’t be able to plead Alzheimer’s, and his chances for JFK-style martyrdom are pretty slim. A successful second-term president with an enviable approval rating, Clinton may finally see his dream of going down in history realized. Unfortunately, it may be as the second American president forced to resign from office.

The really troubling part of the whole mess is that somebody is lying, and it couldn’t come at a worse time. Cynicism and paranoia rule the nation, and Americans feel more out of touch with their government than at perhaps any other time in history. What this country needs is a good, stiff, double shot of 120 proof honesty.

In the interest of national security, let me be the first to strike a blow for honesty. I’ve been living a lie for many years, and it’s time to come clean. Not only did I not watch the Super Bowl, but professional sports do not interest me in the slightest. It may shock you to hear an otherwise normal, middle-class, heterosexual American male admit to a thing like this, but that’s just who I am. I’m through hiding.

It feels good to finally be out of the closet, but there’s plenty more truth where that came from. Truth be known, most of the essays I wrote for scholarship applications and that sort of thing were a lot of crap. Last week, at food service, I went back for a second entree before finishing the first. Once I clicked on a WWW link that said “you must be 21 or older to enter this site.” And Mom, it wasn’t Gray who tried to color the couch blue with a marker. It was me.

They say confession is good for the soul. I believe it’s our only chance to restore America’s faltering morale. So I call upon you, the reader, to practice pure, brutal honesty in your daily life. Admit it: you don’t understand X-Files subplots any more than the next person. You’re getting tired of hearing about Titanic. Your girlfriend’s new haircut really does look stupid.

And, as much as the idea troubles you, you really want to see the Spice Girls movie. Sure, you’d also love to see the Spice Girls beaten with shovels. We all would. But — call it morbid curiosity — you feel the need to visit “Spiceworld,” if only to investigate, for the same reason you would sneak a peek at a horrific car accident. Go ahead and admit it — you’ll feel better. It’s the first step to recovery.

Fellow Americans, I expect to see all of you at the movie theater next weekend. Don’t do it for me, don’t do it for yourselves. Do it for your country, and do it proudly. Embrace your compulsion publicly, for the truth shall set you free. Or, if nothing else, show up just to ruin the experience for any authentic Spice Girls fans in the house. Those people are really sick.

Josh Raulerson is junior in journalism and mass communication and English from Decorah.