If anyone had told me that Barbara Walters would be taking a page from the book of rapper, Bobby Brown, I would have said that would happen the day a woman wins a Grand Prix.

Not our Barbara – the classy, hard hitting reporter, the ex-Today Show host, ex-Nightly news co-anchor, and 20/20 correspondent. Tell me it ain’t so. Will Walter Cronkite be the next to hit Dr. Phil’s couch and blab about romance on top of London’s rooftop during World War II?

There must be something on Oprah’s couch that makes people behave out of character once their butt touches on it. A voodoo from Haiti? Otherwise, how do you explain Barbara Walters’ confession that she had an affair with a married U.S. Senator, Edward Brooke in the 70s?

I would have understood it if the affairs was with Fidel Castro, Che Guevara, or even Charles de Gaul. Now that would amount to sleeping with history. I could understand the itch to hitch one’s wagon with history as twilight approaches.

But an affair with an inconsequential first black man to be popularly elected U.S. senator? To embarrass a black Republican from democratic Massachusetts who is still alive and in hiding somewhere in a remote part of Miami, Florida? Now that is too heartbreaking.

If Barbara, a high profile reporter on a national TV morning show, went after Senator Brooke, imagine what the Barbara’s of today will do to get their hands on President Barack Obama?

It couldn’t be that Barbara just wanted to sell a book. If it was just that, she could have put a picture of an angry Rosie O’Donnell on the cover. And it could not be that people are counting her amongst the closet lesbians about to come out. So why inform the world that you slept with a married man?

Why Barbara? Do we really need to know? Why not tell us something about the Boston Tea Party? An eye witness account, maybe. Or she could tell us of her days of dating Alan Greenspan, especially information on the psychic who eventually began to tell Greenspan when to raise interest rates and when to bring it down.

I am particularly concerned about the message Barbara’s revelation will give to young girls everywhere. That it is OK to kiss and tell? Imagine the number of books that will hit the bookstores soon if all girls open up about all the boys they have slept with?

She did not even know if she loved the senator. She was sure she was infatuated. Oh, Obama, be warned. Be very careful about all those who used to faint at your rallies before Rev. Wright came and dispersed your glow.

I will stay away from commenting on Barbara’s relationship with her sister, Jackie. I worked with people with developmental disabilities. I know a lot of family members who followed the approach of Barbara, people who banished their kids, their siblings, their parents to government facilities and looked away. I had grown from despising them to sympathizing with them. I was sure they feel guilty inside and Barbara just confirmed it.

Now I have no option but to buy Barbara’s memoir, “Audition.” I want to know what happened behind the scene when she met Muammar al-Gaddafi? Did she go with a listening devise that she dropped under Gaddafi’s chair which the CIA eventually used to plan the bombing of Tripoli? When she interviewed Tom Cruise, did she see any sign? Any sign of… you know… that he is … you know.

And of course, I want to know all the stories of The View. Did Rosie really hit Elisabeth? I mean, hit on Elisabeth? What is the problem with Whoopi’s wardrobe? Why can’t it be fixed? Or why can’t she be fixed? Where is the proof that Joy is really a comedian? There are many questions that only the “Audition” will answer.

See where the once respectable reporter has brought us all. What’s next? Let me guess. Don’t tell me. The release of Barbara Walter’s sex tapes by Vivid Entertainment? The world is truly coming to an end.