Stones the Size of Drones.

Have you ever seen the TV show, What Would You Do? Formerly a recurring segment on ABC's 20/20, it apparently became so popular that it was spun into its own program, like, you know, a whole box of just Crunch Berries.

The show's focus was on the behavior of innocent bystanders who believed they were witnessing public acts of boorish or unethical behavior. In reality, each situation was crafted by producers and performed by professional actors, who ultimately revealed themselves Candid-Camera-style.

What Would You Do? quickly emerged as one of our weekly staples. My younger daughter and I would sit gasping with indignation as a "mother" chastised her "daughter" for being too overweight to wear a certain type of clothing while shopping in a department store. We wouldn't exhale until a nice lady or guy approached her and said something like, "Hey, step off, Mommy Dearest. Satan called and he wants you home in five minutes for hot yoga."

There was the"pregnant" women downing tequila shots at a bar. Being from south King County, I never really understood the big deal there.

There was the waiter refusing to serve two dudes dressed as drag queens. I tended to agree since they ordered Bud Light, the most abhorrent swill known to humankind.

And of course, there was the testosterone-soaked father who literally beat his son into the pavement during an intense physical workout at a public park. Joggers would pass with mouths agape, occasionally stopping to confront the man as he forced his son to perform push ups and sit ups. I remember desperately wishing that a kindly Samaritan might someday intervene after witnessing the grisly abuse my daughter inflicts upon her own father while playing one-on-one hoops at the Y. 

Someday the emotion won't burn so raw and the healing will begin. Someday.

But over the weekend, the grand poobah of the What Would You Do? lodge stepped to the podium. Former Central Intelligence Agency employee Edward Snowden, released details to London's Guardian newspaper concerning secret United States surveillance programs. Snowden acknowledged being the source of leaks outlining government practices that collect records on domestic telephone calls and overseas Internet activity in the global hunt for terrorists and criminals.

In his capacity working for a private intelligence contractor, Snowden had access to the mother lode."The NSA has built an infrastructure that allows it to intercept almost everything," he told the newspaper. "With this capability, the vast majority of human communications are automatically ingested without targeting. If I wanted to see your e-mails or your wife's phone, all I have to do is use intercepts. I can get your e-mails, passwords, phone records, credit cards."

Zowie. I don't care about the passwords and credit cards, but man, do I have a long trail of interesting phone conversations with my wife about how long to microwave a baked potato prior to putting it in the oven. Enjoy my dream life, oh spymasters.

Before you brand this man a traitor worthy to breathe the rarefied air of the Benedict Arnolds and Aldrich Ameses and Brett Favres, keep in mind—this guy has chosen to ruin his life; after all, he voluntarily identified himself. Mr. Snowden abandoned everything—his home, his livelihood, even his girlfriend—to establish a moral stand. Most turncoats are motivated either by financial incentive or revenge. 

Not Edward Snowden.

He's obviously in huge trouble, maybe even worse than the kid in my daughter's middle school orchestra who carved his name into his two thousand dollar, school-owned cello, and got booted off the school's trip to Disneyland. Right now, Snowden is holed up in a hotel somewhere in Hong Kong, peaking through the blinds and waiting to be granted asylum from some, possibly any, sympathetic government. 

But by blowing the whistle on these shady dealings, Snowden has planted his bar stool smack dab in the cross hairs of his jilted lover's favorite toy, the predator drone. Or, if and when he's apprehended, he can plan on the federal hard labor version of Extended Stay America. How about that for a couple of can't-lose propositions?

The United States government insists that it isn't abusing this unbridled power, that it only wants to disrupt and destroy terrorist networks while ensuring its citizens the same privacy and freedoms secured  over two-and-a-half centuries by the blood of so many. I'm just not sure, though. Do you buy it? 

What would you do?

How Much Might Petraeus Have Leaked?

Author's note: The following disclaimer is intended for the right-leaning reader, who may believe that analyzing the behavior of a highly decorated American military leader is akin to wrapping a healthy Caucasian infant in a gasoline-soaked American flag and setting the bundle aflame...while dressed like a Taliban guy.

My views are focused solely on the behavior of a man outside his workplace. I would never question the sacrifices he bore or the hardships he endured so that I may speak out in this forum.

Oh, and by the way, speaking of sacrifice, should we talk about Mrs. Petraeus, too? Yes, let's, but first a little backstory.

By now, we've all heard the sordid tale of David Petraeus, retired four-star general and driver of the F-150 that spun its tires a few times, but finally dragged a bloodied America out of a swampy, Mesopotamian cesspool.

Petraeus then loaned his rig to a friend with instructions to perform the same task in Afghanistan while the general swapped his canteen for a decoder ring to take over as head spymaster back stateside.

The general apparently decided, after gazing back upon his illustrious career, that maybe we, the inquiring public, might be intrigued by his personal memoir. Well, one thing led to another, and ultimately a woman with really toned arms and a slightly psychotic glare offered to pen his tale.

With benefits.

The book is entitled All In: The Education of General David Petraeus, and it's just criminally easy to write a one-liner about that.

Look, we dudes are weak, I think we all know this. Here are just a few examples of my own shortcomings:

On Saturday, I nearly convinced myself to orally rescue three pristine slices of pizza lying exposed on the gritty Costco parking lot. Mmmm...pizza.

The only reason I majored in accounting was because the Business School was the closest building to my fraternity and I only had to miss five minutes of "All My Children" to make it to class on time.

Last Wednesday, I declined a flu immunization because I mistakenly believed Walgreen's offered an oral version in Gummi Bear form.

So yeah, weak, party of one, your table is ready.

But I'm just a simpleton with the same security clearance as my cat. This guy Petraeus knows more secret stuff than a room full of Solo-Audited Operating Thetan Scientoligists, or, you know, a playground full of five-year old girls.

Who can say what the guy barked out in the throes of passion? We may never know exactly what he meant about troop deployments from the south being imminent, but the risk of leaks is inevitable.

I know, such cheap humor. Remember, I'm an irresolute male.

My point is, it's quite disturbing that this man who has exhibited the integrity to lead a nation in two wars and command its intelligence apparatus, has allowed his carnal appetite to compromise the security of many who have placed themselves in harm's way. That's frightening.

And now back to General Patraeus' wife, Holly, a woman who has taken care of business all these years on the home front, living in the wings while her husband climbed the political ladder. While I'm sure she derived some benefit, I wonder if, living somewhere beneath those layers of humiliation, shame and sadness, lies an anger at the injustice of it all.

Through no fault of hers, she's the third face in this scandal. And that really sucks.