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| A President in Rut |
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| hose him down, and leash that up |
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This is Dark Cloud on Wednesday, January 28, 1998. You know, no matter where we sit politically, the newest brouhaha surrounding President Clinton’s alleged dalliances are upsetting. To some, it’s because he may have lied about an affair – standard stuff – but also because he did so publicly as President under oath, an impeachable offense. To others, it’s because it seems a slap at his dutiful wife, a smart and attractive woman herself, although we have no idea, nor should we, what sort of marital arrangement they have. To most, it’s disquieting that a President seems unable to control is sex drive and, worse, may not hesitate to seduce those in his direct employ. Others are upset he may seduce women barely older than his daughter. This presupposes at least some of the stories are true. Frankly, it seems likely. Also frankly, big deal. The most heated anger over these events emerges from lisping conservatives like American Spectator editors and Kenneth Starr, men whose immediate first impression is of a male a long time from a woman’s embrace. This impression is not lessened by the call-in shows, where Rush Limbaugh and his chowder heads pose almost the clinical definition of the sexually frustrated males talking about evil quarterbacks from rival high schools seducing their sisters. There is something evil about the media declaring “Of course, the crime here is perjury,” and then headlining everything a sex scandal. In honesty, if our President is priapic or a congenital rutter, I don’t particularly care beyond the fact I don’t want to know. However, President Clinton has let me down in one major way. If my country is going into political convulsions because of oral sex, hitherto called fellatio, in a White House broom closet, and if we are going to be showered with photographs and interviews with women reluctantly – nay tearfully – accepting multi-million dollar checks to tell their pointless story, I for one damned well insist they be smarter and better looking than what we’ve seen thus far. If President, then Governor, Clinton spied Paula Jones across a room and deemed her a must-see tee-hee for the evening, get him a new optical prescription. In his orbit, he could be dealing with Sharon Stone. Instead he chooses a woman who, in romantic fishnet candlelight, most closely resembles a hadrosaur with a goiter between her eyes. It gets worse when she opens her mouth and produces words. Jack Kennedy married Jacqueline Bouvier, and had as his lovers Angie Dickenson, Judith Exner, and Marilyn Monroe, four of the most attractive women of his day. Clinton is a much better President, but the fall from Marilyn to Paula Jones is too difficult for me to fathom. The most scary aspect of all this is our President’s taste in women: dense, loose, gabby, and greedy. Somehow, America deserves better. |
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