A Coupla White Chicks Sittin’ Around Talkin’
Short impression, goes like this; “This is CNN. Monica, Monica, Monica, Monica, Monica, Monica, Monica, Monica, Monica.”
And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you get on your dress from the Gap, which ends up in the Smithsonian next to Jackie O’s brain-splattered designer frock and Archie Bunker’s fart-infused chair. This is our bright American legacy.
Watching Monica last nightrather, trying to keep from being distracted by her shellacked hair helmet and watching her sparkling lips, imagining all sorts of appendages inserting themselves thereI was struck by how stupid she was. Barbara says, “What was with lifting your jacket to show Bill your enthonged buttocks? What do you call that?” “I was just flirting, sending the signal that I’m ready to play, too!” Giggle, giggle. Well, I gots to say that where I live, that’s called flashing your ass. And where I work, which is by no means a center of power in international relations (har, har), flashing your ass ain’t just flirting. But these little semantic arguments are a big part of this whole scene, so where’s the point in yelling at the screen like I did last night?
“It’s called flashing your ass!” “It was just a little signal…” “No, Monica, it’s called flashing your ass!”
I must admit that I watched it to have my own session of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 in my living room, laughing at her make-up (you could see a sharp line where the pancake ended and her real skin began) wondering when her contacts would pop out, inserting my own thought balloons in the picture when she mulled a response to one of Baba’s loaded questions. I was sorely disappointed that she never called “The President” an asshole, or Linda Tripp a bitch or anything. And given the chance to sing the praises of phone sex to a national audience of wet-tongued mouth breathers wantingno, needing an erection she didn’t say, “Well, Barbara, if it were you and I, for example? I might say something like, ‘my hands move up your body, my touch is soft but insistent. My fingertips play across your skin as I draw nearer and nearer to your breast. I lean my mouth down, down toward your nipples. They’re hard and needy, my warm breath blows across them and you sigh and shiver.’ ” And then we’d get a reaction shot, Barbara would lean back slightly, her eyes sort of distant. A slow nod.
I mean, c’mon! You can say nipple on television. A little heat between the girls? What, are you kidding? It’s a ratings bonanza! Or why didn’t Baba ever ask, “And, how big is the Head of State?” And Monica’s weird eyes would twinkle and you can see inside her mouth when she grins since the camera seemed to be angled from the point of view of the President, so to speak, and she holds her hands up to give us an idea and we can all be proud that our country’s dick is bigger than yours, and we have proof!
As usual, this interview won’t do anything to change anyone’s opinion of Lewinsky or Clinton or any of the other players in this comedy of errors, but it’ll no doubt sell lots of books. I have a hard time feeling sorry for anyone that stupid who manages to make that much money off her choices. I heard she got something close to $1million for the book deal, and she’s getting a couple million more for interviews in Europe. What about poor Linda Tripp, huh? She suffers the humility of having John Goodman portray her on Saturday Night Live (the humility was that he did such a great job), and all she wants to do is hug Monica. Look at what she did for this country, people! Linda Tripp made it okay to spy on your friends! That’s the sort of thing that defines entire generations!
Just a little hint for all you web site owners out there; use words like “head,” and “fetish,” and “rubber,” in close proximity on your pages. Words that would otherwise be totally (or partially) innocuous suddenly take on intense importance when people are searching Alta Vista for stories about rubber fetishists giving head. It works!
Okay, back to business.
I think all this sex talk is great for the country. The puritan streak that some insist on carrying forward is why we have Tinky Winky scandals, not that there’s anything wrong with that. I wish I’d thought that one up, let me tell you. Fabulous cocktail talk, the whole gay children’s television character discussion. And then you branch off from there to see that The Coyote was a masochist (how else to explain his ongoing, incredibly painful pursuit of The Roadrunner, who is a speed freak, literally, and needs Ritalin) and Yogi was a klepto and what is the deal with Fat Albert and his food problem. “A sandwich is not love, Albert! Get some therapy!”
And something’s wrong with Barney. A grown dinosaur hanging out with children all the time? sleeping with them? Hmmmm? Has anyone checked his purple penis for distinguishing marks? I mean, the guy is wandering around stark naked all the time, it can’t be that hard to find out! I’m only concerned for the moral welfare of this country!
I’m yelling again!
“Why did he have to put it that way? ‘That woman.’ Made me feel cheap.” “What would you have preferred, Mon honey?” “Well, he could have phrased it so it was still a denial but it didn’t demean me. Something like, ‘Monica Lewinski is a bright, caring, sensitive, passionate, intelligent, well-rounded, articulate, animal-loving, Christian woman. She is loving, decent, warm-hearted and sensual in a totally innocent way. She’s got really cool, like, clothes that she wears and…” “Monica?” “…I’d totally trust her to take care of my dog if I went away on vacation to Mexico or something…” “Monica?” “…but she never, and I want to stress this,’ and he’d do that thing with his thumb? Y’know? Which is, like, so cute…” “Monica? Honey?” “…he’d go, ‘I have never had intercourse with her, which means lying down horizontal in a bed or on the carpet or a table, but that’s uncomfortable, or maybe a couch if it’s big enough but not a car. Doing it in a car is just sort of cheap somehow, which she is not, let me stress that again…” “Monica Lewinski.” “So, y’know, if she said we had intercourse we never did have that.’ And then it would be his word against mine like it should be in situations like this.” “Like what?” “You know, adulterous relationships where I flash my as…adjust my thing in the privacy of my own, um, privacy and if he just happens to be there and something happens, because I’m this totally sensuous woman! I am! Ask any of my friends, my real friends I mean, because we talk about everything and I do mean everything! And I’ve always been sensual. Sensuous. I can’t remember, which one means horny?”
March 4, 1999