John Edwards is in deep doo-doo -- again. We're not talking about the Long Island psychic (that's John Edward with a "d," as in "I talk to dead people"). No, we mean one Southern hair-bangin', cancer-wife-cheatin', disgraced former presidential candidate, who adamantly denied (ON NATIONAL TELEVISION EVEN!!) being the father of his former videographer's daughter.
The DNA don't lie, Johnny Pants.
If only John had spent as much time doting on his long-suffering wife as he did visiting his not-daughter in seedy hotel rooms, perhaps even Elizabeth would have stood by his paternity pshawing. However, once even Mrs. E. threw him under the baby bus on Oprah, even his most ardent supporters (were there any left?) had to have seen the writing on the maternity-ward wall.
Who woulda thunk that one day we'd be bowing down before The National Enquirer as the disseminator of breaking, authentic, not-made-up news?
Oh -- and the baby's name is Frances.
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