I feel no guilt at all over fantasizing that when the election is over Theraza dumps the gold digger, that he spends the next four years hiding in the Senate cloakroom swilling vodka and soiling himself, that in 2006 the voters of Massachusetts turn him out in favor of an advanced kitchen appliance, and finally he ends up drinking his Senate pension in a squalid Latino gin mill in Boca Rotten within RGP range of the new mosque incoherently mumbling at frightened tourists, "Do ya know who I used to be?"
P.S. - Boca Ratton is the "Elephants Burial Ground" of MA politicians; it's where they go to die.