If I were Jeffrey Toobin, I’d have my lawyer check to see if the New Yorker has a policy against rubbing one out in the comfort of your own home—which, it doesn’t seem like they should be allowed to have such a rule.
Toobin, in case you haven’t heard, was caught tubin’ (as it’s now called) on a work Zoom call and has been suspended from his job at the New Yorker.
He’s yet to be fired, and I’m assuming he’s awaiting the results of an investigation. He maintains that he accidentally rubbed one out during this meeting, that he thought his camera had been muted (which I’m pretty sure just cuts off the volume) and that he wasn’t masturbating to anyone who was on the call.
The fate of his continued employment with the New Yorker could rest on how attractive the women on this call were. I’m assuming there were women on the call, because the journalism industry skews female, because it’s more progressive than other industries.
How tragic would it be if all of the other people on the call were guys. I’m not sure if I could live with the embarrassment. Not that there’s anything wrong with rubbing one out to other guys, if that’s what you’re into. Uh, nullus.
If any of the girls on the call were especially attractive, with large cans that are evident even in conservative business attire, over a grainy Zoom call, Toobin might as well just resign. No judge will believe that he was rubbing one out to thoughts of some girl he went to high school with, for the millionth time, like normal people. (I’m assuming that’s what people do. I would never purposely try to capture an image for later use in my, erm, “personal life.”)
On the other hand, if these girls were kinda homely, Toobin might have a fighting chance—especially if the judge is a guy. A male judge would understand that, while any woman, when she’s still at least kinda young, can be fapped to, why would you intentionally rub one out to someone who’s not hot, when you could rub one out to literally anyone? You don’t have to ask permission. (I always ask permission.)
No one who’s a successful author, and a lawyer, and a TV legal analyst, imagines that he’ll one day be in court arguing that a girl wasn’t attractive enough to masturbate to, and I’m sure it’s the last thing Toobin would rather be doing if he had any choice in the matter. But that’s the thing. He might not have any choice in the matter. He needs to keep the jobs he already has, because who else would hire him? They don’t even take people like that at Vice anymore. They had too many problems with Action Bronson’s weed carriers.
Working for such august institutions as the New Yorker and CNN is not like working in a warehouse, where you don’t know the names of people who work in other warehouses. I could almost certainly get caught polishing the bishop, in between two pallets of [redacted] that we’d still ship to a grocery store, and still get a job at another place in the same office park—possibly closer to the exit, where I wouldn’t have to sit in line as long at 5 PM, blasting “Born to Run” on the ol’ car stereo, as one does.
Not that I would ever do such a thing. I’m just saying, I could.
Take it easy on yourself,