Things slow down in July, even in Washington. Actually, Washington begins slowing down on Memorial Day and by, say, the second week of August, if it weren’t for the questionably clad hordes of reeking tourists, you’d swear the place was a ghost town. So, unlike my usual hectic office schedule, I had the opportunity this afternoon to stop, reflect, re-assess and reorganize for a rare two hour period of quiet between appointments. Or at least I thought I did.
As you can well imagine, Dear Reader, I eagerly anticipated its arrival as the last fifteen minutes of a typical consultation wound down. But, while soothing a weeping third-world economist as he attempted to cope with having the value of his country’s currency pegged to the US dollar (and having his country’s foreign aid payments contingent on the continuance of that relationship), my desk phone rang and my private secretary announced that Hillary Clinton was calling.
“Ask her to hold,” I instructed.
“Yes, Mr. Collins,” my loyal private secretary said with an air of resignation. In a moment, however, she told me “Senator Clinton asks me to remind you that she is Senator Clinton, not some, um… other person.”
“Then ask her to call back,” I requested.
My private secretary sighed, in a particular way that she has, which I know signifies that I have suggested something that’s not in the least feasible, and I know it. Nevertheless, she did, and in a moment, I heard her say “Senator Clinton says she’s, ah, Senator Clinton, and says so very emphatically…”
“Okay,” I relented, looking up at my current client, who was sniffling and blowing his nose, staring back at me with red-rimmed eyes. “It’s Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton of New York,” I intoned in my most grave and portentous voice. “You know, the former presidential candidate – and possibly the Democratic vice-presidental running mate in our upcoming election. Perhaps, if you would allow me, I could mention your country’s problems to her…”
“Yes, yes,” piped the sorrowful little man, nodding affirmation as he quickly shoved his paperwork into his attache case and hastily made ready to leave. “Please, Mr. Collins, do so. An excellent idea, to seize such an opportunity.” And before I had time to thank him, he was gone.
“All right,” I told my private secretary, “go ahead and put Senator Clinton on.”
And she did.
Clinton: Mr. Collins? Mr. Tom Collins?
Tom: Yes ma’am; at your service.
Clinton: I got your number from my daughter Chelsea.
Tom: Oh yes, I remember, Senator. She spoke with me a while back. We talked about how she could do a better job representing your bid for President.
Clinton: That’s ancient history now.
Tom: You fought well, Senator, and I offer my condolences.
Clinton: Thank you, Mr. Collins, but frankly, your condolences and ten million dollars wouldn’t solve half my problems at the moment.
Tom: Understood. To what, then, do I owe the honor of this telephone call?
Clinton: Did you hear what my husband said about Barack Obama?
Tom: Would that be prior to or after your brave and noble concession speech which recognized Senator Obama as the Democratic presidential candidate for 2008?
Clinton: Don’t go putting words in my mouth, Mr. Collins.
Tom: Sorry, Senator. What I meant was, are you referring to something your husband Bill has said lately?
Clinton: I certainly am, Mr. Collins. I’m referring to remarks that even now, as we speak, are crawling all over the Internet like fire ants on a picnic basket full of honey glazed donuts and grape jelly sandwiches.
Tom: Ah, yes, I see, you’re talking about how Bill is reputed to have said that, while you are willing to close ranks with Senator Obama to do battle with Senator McCain for the Presidency, he, former Democratic President Bill Clinton, is most definitely not, and in fact, Senator Obama will have to …
Clinton: … kiss his [expletive] before he’ll support Obama’s run for the White House.
Tom: And you are sure, Senator, that, as a major Democratic leader, your husband was not merely suggesting that he’d like to see Barack smooch his pet donkey Lyndon, that he keeps on the family farm in Arkansas? The donkey is, after all, the Democratic party symbol, isn’t it?
Clinton: I’m quite certain.
Tom: How come?
Clinton: Because I talked to him about what he said after he said it. As his wife, I can assure you, Mr. Collins, he not only did not mean that he wants Obama to kiss his pet donkey Lyndon, he also did not mean what he said as a common, vulgar metaphoric figure of speech, either.
Tom: No? Really?
Clinton: He meant it literally.
Tom: Gracious!
Clinton: That was my own reaction – more or less.
Tom: I hope you will pardon me for inquiring, Senator, but is it, ah, possible that your husband could be, um, losing his grip on… reality?
Clinton: What do you mean, “losing?” He’s been crazy as a whore house bed bug since before we moved into the Governor’s Mansion back in Little Rock.
Tom: I see. So – in return for his endorsement and support, your husband Bill expects and/or will require actual physical labial osculation of as-yet not entirely specified portions of his backside by Senator Obama?
Clinton: He’s adamant about it. Completely inflexible. Won’t give an inch on the issue. I know, because I argued with him about it for several hours.
Tom: What’s his major rationale?
Clinton: The same rationale he had when he was chasing skirts all over Arkansas and grabbing interns by the back of the head under his desk in the Oval Office.
Tom: Which is?
Clinton: He wants it and he figures he can get away with it, so, as far as he’s concerned, that means he should have it.
Tom: I understand. You understand. But does your husband understand the cultural issues?
Clinton: Such as what?
Tom: Well, you know, for example, that in black households, everybody in the family has their own wash cloth in the bathroom; but, in a white family’s bathroom, they all use the same bar of soap, just like that? The same plain bar of soap for everybody.
Clinton: I… well, I must admit, I didn’t know that business about black people and wash cloths and all, and I would also admit, if you look at it that way, then, by comparison, at least, white people do seem kind of dirty. That is your point, isn’t it?
Tom: Exactly. So, for example, white people pee in the shower…
Clinton: And black people don’t?
Tom: Of course not. Do you think they want all the white people whispering “… and they pee in the shower, you know,” even if those very same white people pee in the shower themselves?
Clinton: So what you’re saying, essentially, is that black people are more fastidious in their personal habits because to do otherwise would invite criticism from white people?
Tom: Well, that’s certainly one reason. Anyway, then, putting it as delicately as possible, we know that white people go “south of the border.” But black people don’t.
Clinton: Are you sure? I mean, everybody knows that Jews go “south of the border,” – look at Monica Lewinsky for instance. She’s been “south of the border” so many times, she should open a crab taco stand.
Tom: That’s because Jews think they’re white people.
Clinton: Oh, so that’s it. I never really knew. They do?
Tom: Every blessed one of them.
Clinton: Well, if that doesn’t beat all! I’d say just learning that one thing makes calling you worth the effort.
Tom: Thank you, Senator. So, long story short, Senator Obama, being black, has very likely never been “south of the border,” not even with Mrs. Obama.
Clinton: Gee, that’s hard to fathom. I mean, if Bill didn’t go “south of the border” on me, he’d be totally useless. As a matter of fact, that’s about the only thing he can do for me that’s not a complete waste of my time.
Tom: Believe me, Senator, the whole thing is terra incognita for Barack Hussein Obama. And then, of course, there’s the fact that he would be going “south of the border” on a man. And, in black culture, there’s no such thing as a man who isn’t gay but still likes to have sex with men, as there is in white culture.
Clinton: You mean, such a thing actually exists in white culture?
Tom: Absolutely. You know, Senator, since so many white male politicians in America are not gay, but like to have sex with men anyway, I’m surprised that you’re surprised when I mention it.
Clinton: Well, I can say with some authority that I’m thoroughly familiar with the concept of women politicians who are gay, but have sex with men anyway.
Tom: You are?
Clinton: Of course I am. So at least I can understand the concept of male politicians who aren’t gay, but have sex with men anyway, and sympathize with their situation, understand their dilemma, and feel their pain.
Tom: I’m sure that’s a good thing, Senator. But as I was saying, if a black man has sex with another man, then, as far as black culture is concerned, he’s not a man anymore; he instantly transforms into something called a Down-Low.
Clinton: A “Down-Low?”
Tom: Yeah, a walking dead creature of the night, similar to a zombie. Some believe that, upon completion of such an act, in addition, the black man’s soul leaves his body immediately, never to return. And I’m pretty sure that placing his lips anywhere on your husband’s body would qualify, in Senator Obama’s mind, and that of most any other black American, as a sex act with another man.
Clinton: So you’re telling me, there’s no way Barack Obama’s ever going to kiss Bill Clinton’s [expletive], come Hell, high water or a Republican majority in both houses of Congress?
Tom: Essentially.
Clinton: Huh! That burns me up, you know? Obama showed the entire planet that he’d do anything to get elected President, but now, you’re saying here’s something he won’t do, no matter what! I’m telling you for sure – if Barack Obama doesn’t kiss my husband’s [expletive], there’s no way he’s getting Bill Clinton’s endorsement and there’s no way Bill Clinton’s going to campaign for him, either!
Tom: Uh, Senator Clinton?
Clinton: Yes?
Tom: Have you considered the possibility that it would extremely helpful to Senator Obama’s campaign if, in fact, your husband did not endorse or campaign for him?
Clinton: No.
Tom: Well, you should.
Clinton: But my husband is more popular than Jesus!
Tom: With Democrats, maybe. But with other voters, not so much; and the primaries are over, Senator. The truth is, most independents hate Bill Clinton and, as I’m sure you can see, his presence on the Obama campaign baggage train isn’t going to help convert any of that twenty plus percent of Republicans who are displeased with Bush and can’t stand McCain, either.
Clinton: Oh, I get it. You’re saying that if Bill wants Barack to kiss his [expletive], Bill should say if he doesn’t, then Bill will endorse him like Johnson endorsed Johnson and campaign for him like Truman campaigned for Truman!
Tom: Precisely.
Clinton: Blackmail him into doing it, you’re saying.
Tom: I assume your husband is a master of the techniques used to extort favors from unwilling people.
Clinton: Are you kidding? It’s his greatest talent! Okay, now I get it! Thanks a bunch, Mr. Collins!
Tom: You’re welcome. Where shall I send my invoice?
Clinton: Invoice?
Tom: Yes, the invoice for my minimum consultation fee.
Clinton: But I heard that you advised Obama and his wife for free.
Tom: That’s not quite correct. The actual truth is, they stiffed me.
Clinton: No [expletive]? Well, hell, my campaign is millions and millions of dollars in debt and his is overflowing with cash. So if Obama didn’t have to pay, why lean on me?
Tom: Oh, well, I figured it couldn’t do any harm to at least ask. Would you consider doing me a favor instead, then?
Clinton: Depends on what it is.
Tom: Sure, I understand. Senator, I have a client who is the Economics Minister for a country where the currency is pegged to the US dollar, and his government would very much like to peg it to the Euro instead. His problem is, the State Department is threatening to request that Congress cut off foreign aid payments if his government does so. In view of the present situation with the dollar, however, could you…
Clinton: Who? He said what? Oh, excuse me, Mr. Collins, there seems to be another problem with Bill’s big, fat blabbering mouth again, and I swear, this time, I’m going to fix it before whatever it was he spouted off without thinking about it first gets e-mailed all over the world! Gotta go. Thanks. ‘Bye.