Billions For Bimbo

Alright, it’s an exaggeration, Bimbo isn’t getting billions, just millions. For what? Writing a revelation about her aphrodisiacal secrets? Discourse on her technique of fellatio? Anyone out there just become indignant because I wrote about reality too graphically?

In order for anyone to become indignant, he or she must first have dignity; a commodity that is sorely lacking in today’s society. You need only  read a newspaper, watch television or visit the cinema to be regaled by the most blatant examples of the crude and the foul. For example, in the midst of an alleged negotiation to settle a law suit against president Clinton by a woman named Jones, the President’s lawyers reportedly withdrew the offer. The headline on the New York Post was: “Paula Blew It”. In the midst of the current fascination with sexual double entendre, that headline left little to the imagination. And nothing for civility or dignity.

The revival of ‘Hollywood Squares’ over the Thanksgiving weekend had a question asked by one of the panelists to a guest who apparently lived in some town called Spring Fork, Idaho, or something like that. The panelist asked: “If there was a University in your home town, would it be called Fork U. This gem of sensibility and civility was followed immediately by that same guest selecting a female panelist to answer the question: “What city in the United States is the most stressful for women?” The panelist, with cardboard spontaeniety – many of the responses, particularly the really clever ones, are pre-prepared for the panelists – answered, “San Francisco. My best girl friend lived there for three years and still hadn’t used up a tube of diaphragm jelly. If that’s not stressful, I don’t know what is.”

Good Lord, thought I, this crudity is written by some moronic script writer for prime time, week-end programming, intended for children. Then I thought, I had to get with it. This was it, and I was living in the past in my desire for dignity, civility, refinement, decency, manners, control, restraint.

Fuck it! I said to myself – although it probably wouldn’t matter if I shouted out loud on Main Street, U.S.A..  The little scum bag kids watching this show have heard it all before, and then some. What remnants of civility – or what some old farts think of as civility – is too precious, too much a vanity from some delicate era where explicit langauge wasn’t appropriate because it offended the gentler sex.

Nowadays, there is no gentler sex. Ms. Lewinsky, a young woman by older standards, the person for whom you were, at the top of this column, offended because she was referred to explicitly as a Bimbo, saved the dress!  The dress on which the President allegedly ejaculated.  Or, to put it more precisely, some of his ejaculant, spilled out of Ms. Lewinsky’s mouth, or dribbled off her chin, onto the dress, and she saved it!

Hell, she didn’t only save the dress. She gave it to her mother to hold. To hold? For what? Except to sell it to someone who was interested in such things. Which, apparently, includes just about everyone in the world today. And, you know what? Her mother held on to the dress for her! I mean, if a girl can’t rely on her mother to take care of something like that for her, well, hell, isn’t there any civility, dignity, refinement in the world any more?

Now if you think that this column is horrible, revolting, etc., it is only a repetition of what has been fascinating people for months and months, in explicit terms, machine-gunned at us daily, incessantly, everywhere you turn, every day. Lord, it is abysmal. And it is unending. And when are we going to do something about it?

I am: here and now. I wrote this crude column so you would read it, be revolted by it, and then, if you would, re-read it, and see that what I wrote is exactly what has been hyped in the press and on television without so much as a blush or a wince. And now its going to be sold to you in a book, so that Ms. Lewinsky can make bundle and sit on her well padded arse and laugh at those so stupid as to buy and read her book, and have her describe exactly the crudity that I condensed and included above.

If you buy it, you deserve to read what I wrote, and more, every day, until you’re so damn sick of it, maybe you’ll stand up on your hind legs and say, like that character in the film about television production: “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore!”
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