Jill Kelley, socialite, twin, and all-around Floridian disgrace, is back and better than ever with a lawsuit against the FBI and other federal agencies for examining her e-mails and revealing her identity to the press.

The woman who purchased access to military officials with lavish parties and spent countless nights exchanging torrid (circa 1950) e-mails with not one but two generals has filed suit over the breach of privacy, and the worst part is: she's right. I have no choice but to agree with Kelley, whose home I have unwittingly driven by several times before the scandal broke. And it seems like for every thing about her and her sadsack husband I find repulsive (they live in South Tampa, they're rich, they abuse their meager power) I find one point that inspires sympathy (she was born in Lebanon, they are incredibly dull-witted, they live in Tampa). She could have slept with a general and she didn't! She didn't try to have her frenemies drone-striked during Pilates!

What she did do was draw the ire of a crazy, well-built woman through her natural social graces. Jill Kelley flew too close to the sun, and now she'll have to pay the price of living an ordinary life on Bayshore Blvd and awkwardly making eye contact with her neighbors or a reporter while looking out at her lush backyard, dreaming of the fetes and soirees that could have been but now will never be. Sometimes she will check her e-mail account, that aborted fetus of an American dream, for something from Dave, but as always there is nothing because the creditors disconnected her e-mail long ago.