I Wish I could quit you, Alec. Honest, I do.

But my lusty bloviator refuses to act like a lady and realize when it’s time to leave.

Why in Alec Baldwin’s cold, hypocritical lefty heart (or is that redundant?) can’t the ubiquitous star of TV, radio and American Airlines — the author of scary phone threats directed at his daughter and Twitter rants directed at everyone else — just get the message that he’s no longer welcome in polite society?

Probably because, if Alec Baldwin stamped his feet and whined like a toddler, and there was no one to hear, he would cease to exist.

Every season has its reigning fame whore, an individual so insecure about his contribution to society, one can’t walk three paces before encountering his mug. Hey, Alec — Kim Kardashian wants her title back!

For here is a man who fears he might simply vanish — poof! — if he wasn’t pissing off American flight attendants by refusing to shut off his cellphone. He infuriated lowly bus riders by then saying US air carriers have made flying a “Greyhound bus experience.’’

Here’s a guy who threatened his 11-year-old daughter, Ireland — whom he called a “rude, thoughtless little pig’’ — and other defenseless females one-quarter his buxom size.

And here is a liberal who angered homosexuals by saying a random senator should “retire to a solar-powered gay bar.’’

Alec is an avowed anti-capitalist kook who routinely betrays his rich, commie Hollywood pals (redundant?) by shilling for the banking industry as pitchman for Capital One.

Back in 2000, when we were young and Alec’s waistline was in check, Baldwin threatened to leave the United States if George W. Bush beat Al Gore in the presidential election. America rejoiced!

After Gore lost, he changed his tune.

“I think my exact comment was that if Bush won, it would be a good time to leave the United States,’’ said Alec. “I’m not necessarily going to leave.’’ Rats.

In March, Alec unleashed a scary tirade against Oklahoma Republican Sen. James Inhofe.

No less a moral authority than Robert F. Kennedy Jr. called Inhofe “big oil’s call girl.’’

“Is there a bigger oil whore than James Inhofe?’’ tweeted Alec. “We need to have Inhofe retire to a solar-powered gay bar.’’

That’s nothing. He told Conan O’Brien in 1998, ahead of President Bill Clinton’s impeachment trial, that “if we were in another country . . . we would stone [Republican Rep.] Henry Hyde and we would go to their homes and kill their wives and their children. We would kill their families.’’

So you can imagine my discomfort when, last month, Alec unveiled his obsession with me. He took to Twitter, like a crack whore to the pipe, to agonize over my well-being.

“Andrea Peyser, you are as bad a writer as you are filled with self-hatred,’’ he said in one concerned tweet.

He continued his nonstop tweets while vacationing with Italy with his “fiancée,’’ Hilaria Thomas, which made me worried.

Which brings me to present-day Alec. At 54, he’s stayed in the public eye by getting engaged to Thomas, a 28-year-old yoga instructor. Then it was revealed in Manhattan Criminal Court that Baldwin was being stalked by Genevieve Sabourin, a pretty Canadian who wanted his baby. Was she a wacko?

Well, Alec owned up to wining and dining the lady at least twice — to help her acting career, of course. And I can sell Hilaria a very nice bridge if she believes that one.

He’s everywhere, “cheapening his brand,’’ noted an expert on the subject. He’s on “30 Rock.’’ He’s narrating “Frozen Planet’’ on the Discovery Channel. He’s interviewing opera star Renée Fleming on WNYC public radio. And he’s appearing on “Saturday Night Live.” How does he find time to threaten folks on Twitter?

And when is he free to threaten New York City with running for mayor?

Now in Cannes, he and Thomas are reportedly set to marry in Europe. That’s one way to get him out of the country. Maybe he’ll stay away.

I wouldn’t count on it.

Kennedys made their own bed

Mary Richardson Kennedy died believing that her husband, Robert F. Kennedy Jr., had a fling with a woman named Ann Colley. This was particularly hurtful, say Mary’s friends, because Ann Colley was married to Bruce Colley, the polo-playing playboy whose 2003 bed games with RFK Jr.’s sister Kerry Kennedy broke up her marriage to Andrew Cuomo.

If it occurred, “an affair with the wife of [Kerry’s] paramour is particularly tacky — even for a Kennedy,’’ said a source who knew Richardson, who killed herself by hanging.

The story came out on the heels of a self-serving eulogy given by RFK Jr. at Mary’s Westchester memorial, in which he took no responsibility for his wife’s torment. Kerry Kennedy also penned a touching piece in The Post, in which she described Mary’s history of depression. She failed to mention that her own brother made things worse by fighting Mary for custody of their four kids, and flaunting his mistress, Cheryl Hines.

Nice family.

AW, POOR IDLE ROYAL RICH

How can you put a royal slacker out of “work?’’

Monaco’s Prince Pierre Casiraghi presented a doctor’s report to Manhattan prosecutors, declaring that after he and three pals got into a February bitch-slapping brawl in a Meatpacking District club, the prince was so badly scratched, he went on disability for a month.

So a man who never worked a day in his life got paid not to work?

“What I think this actually means is that he can’t go to a club for 30 days,’’ laughed lawyer Joe Tacopina, who reps Adam Hock, the man with whom Casiraghi & Crew picked a drunken fight. Supermodels ran for safety and an overpriced magnum of Grey Goose vodka went flying.

Initially described by local doctors as having a “superficial’’ skin laceration, Casiraghi, 24, later flew home to Monaco where royal docs diagnosed him with “face trauma,’’ Tacopina says. The little prince is proceeding with an assault case against Hock, 47.

Give it a rest, Pierre. And stay in Monaco, where your kind is tolerated.

Slip slidin’ hooray!

The nation’s finest scientific minds have cracked the answer to an age-old riddle: How does one get the last drop of ketchup from a bottle?

Researchers at Massachusetts Institute of Technology determined that the answer is LiquiGlide, a coating that keeps ice from sticking to airplane wings.

A million tons a year of wasted condiments could be saved, according to MIT’s nano-technologists and mechanical engineers. What a great, nonstick country!

Vermin-squirmin’

How do you spell rats?

The City Council has proposed awarding subway stations letter grades, such as those used for restaurants, judging them on cleanliness, safety — and the presence of subterranean rodents.

I give the subways an “F.’’ When they get rid of Willard, we’ll talk about “A’’ and “B.’’