State of the Union

The following is a first draft of Clinton's recent State of the Union Address...

In a moment of anger, Clinton campaigned to come clean and give America the straight scoop. However, his Department of Spin managed to convince him of the folly of such an action and that America would have serious doubts about someone who would be stupid enough to tell the truth. Therefore, this speech was never given. We have, however, managed to obtain a copy from Monica Lewinski's loyal and trusted friend, Ms. Tripp.

Quote:

Members of Congress, Ladies and Gentlemen, People of America:

Let's get it over with. Yes, I banged her. Like a cheap gong. Which is not news, folks, because Monica baby has been playing the flute solo in my libidinal orchestra for a long time. The only babes in D.C. I haven't tried to diddle are Hillary, Albright, and Shalala, and that is because they're evil and have the legs of a nine-foot Steinway grand piano. Which is not to say I don't appreciate Hillary. I do. If it weren't for the ice-water coursing through her veins, I'd be pumping gas at the local Farmer's Co-op in Hope, Arkansas, and she'd be married to a real President.

So, once and for all, let me set the record straight tonight. I dodged the draft, hid FBI files, smoked dope, flipped Whitewater property for a profit, set up a Korean wing in the White House, fired the travel staff for doing their job, paid hush money to Webster, sold the Lincoln bedroom like an upscale Motel 6, and made pocket pool the national pastime in the Oval Office. Got it? Good. And so what. You can't tell me that when I was elected six years ago, there's a man, woman, or child out there who didn't know I was a horndog to the 10th degree. But, you elected Mr. Fellatio Extraordinaire as President anyway, and anyone with half a brain knew where this was all headed. So, quit bitching, because it turned out to be a good move on your part.

And let me tell you why. Your other choice was Dole, the dullest and squarest boor you could imagine. Honesty is not a virtue in all societies. And the first guy, Bush, an aging yuppie moron who thought he could bomb his way into the White House, would have been four more years of disaster. Who knows who we would have bombed next - Canada? Before him, it was Reagan who left office with the same Alzheimer's he came in with. There was Carter before him, who brought you a 17% prime interest rate with a smile. Nixon, before that, coined, but never really understood, the concept of 'plausible deniability'. Johnson was an inbred power-mad war criminal. And John Kennedy, who took more than a few shake breaks himself in the big oval, didn't hang around long enough for America to spot that curious atavistic tic for beaver-wrestling shared by at least a dozen other former residents of the White House. And I won't even mention the real skirt chasers like Eisenhower and Roosevelt, or some of the other lucky bastards that were pre 'prime time' television. Things could be a lot worse.

Which brings me back to me, and the point of all of this. Since I have been strumming the banjo here, government is doing more for less. The budget is balanced - the first time since my sausage-mate, JFK, did a one gun salute to Marilyn, a fact the press didn't seem to notice. Unemployment is so low today that a blind felon can get a job at the US Mint as a night security guard. The stock market is higher than a D-student on a full gram of dumb-dust. We've got our boy Saddam backed into a corner trying to cover his tracks before he gets his ass nuked. And there is so much prosperity floating around that anyone with a degree from a junior college who can spell 'software' has enough money to ponder the annual renewal of their golf club membership, instead of where their next meal is coming from. Things are good.

Bottom line: I'm running a government, not a dating school, and I've done it with my libido in plain sight of everyone. No surprises here. I am asking you for your support, not a date with your daughter, unless, of course, she's got thin ankles and is looking for an intern job. You can call 1 800 THE PREZ for an application. Please include a nude photo. In the meantime, think about where you are today, what kind of life you're living, and before you get so damned interested in which way my pants drop, ask yourselves this one big question, 'Just what in the Hell was it that you hired me to do, anyway?'

Good night and good hunting!"

The Prez