My bet is that Al Franken already is feeling sorry for himself. He has found himself in a no-win situation, and can see no acceptable way out. His latest attempt to talk his way out of being a sexual harasser, a presser on Capitol Hill, did him no good at all. The six agonizing minutes of him promising to learn from mistakes he does not remember (hat tip: Drudge) were pronounced in a voice that was uncomfortably close to that of Stuart Smalley, the pathetic caricature he created, whom he is resembling more closely with every passing day.

The old nostrums just won't cut it anymore.  He isn't a warm person who hugs everyone, and it is obvious even to allies that he is BSing.  Jennifer Brooks of his hometown paper, the Star Tribune, told Andrea Mitchell that she doesn't know what kind of hug involves touching the butt.

The problem is that Franken has tasted the heroin of politicians: fancying himself a potential president.  Democrat insiders, desperate for someone younger and less radical than Bernie Sanders and less repulsive than Hillary Clinton, had been whispering in his ear about the possibility of becoming the first Jew (and first Minnesotan) to occupy the Oval Office.

That's a tough dream to jettison along with any other elective office.

My optimistic take is that Franken will hang tough.  His current term ends with the 2020 election, and he no doubt will face a challenge for nomination.  If he wins the nomination, he very well could lose the seat to a Republican, as Minnesota women are some of the most feminist in the nation.

He will never, ever live down the infamous picture of him grabbing (or pretending to grab – doesn't matter, because feminists are offended by the attempt at humor in sexual assault) the breasts of Leeann Tweeden.  Politically speaking, he is the walking dead, and the longer he takes to realize that, the better.