Sat on the Presidential Staff

Sunday, July 22, 2001

Just the other morning I was watching The Today Show when that hot tomato Katie Couric said something like, Coming up: Were going to focus on the ongoing stem cell debate.

The ongoing stem cell debate?

Omigod, which side was I on, stems or cells?

Tragically, I not only didnt know a stem cell debate was raging all over America – I didnt even know what a stem cell was. Stems and seeds, yes. That rang a bell. (Oh, were down to stems and seeds again. Bummer.) But for stem cell, I was drawing a blank (see above).

So I opened the newspaper and began reading about stem cells. And there was all this stuff about surplus embryos and frozen embryos.

And I said: Yikes! Check, please.

Thats what Americans are talking about this summer, frozen embryos? Excuse me, what happened to frozen margaritas?

Its not like I dont think stem cell research is important. Im sure its important. (Heres whats not important: Jurassic Park III. Whos idea was that? What next, Jurassic Park IV, where the dinosaurs fight the Russian, Ivan Drago?) Its not that Im unsympathetic to stem cells and all they can do – especially as a border in your flower bed. Its that I have finally accepted that I cant be up to speed on everything. Its a matter of prioritizing. If I have to be up to speed on Gary Condit (and believe me, its a full-time gig waiting for him to come out of his apartment every day wearing that frozen smile), stem cells just have to go.

My problem isnt stem cells, its a lack of brain cells. I cluttered my brain with batting averages when I was a little kid, and rock-and-roll lyrics when I was a teenager. The last 30 years or so Ive tried to learn about adult things like 401(k) accounts, runny French cheeses and erectile dysfunction. I fear Im tapped out. Katie Couric, you ripe plum, I love ya, but the ongoing stem cell debate will have to ongo without me.

Friends, tell me you feel this way, too. Tell me you dont have enough energy to tackle all the great issues of the day – like whose fault was it Julia Roberts and Benjamin Bratt hit the bricks? First, Alec and Kim, and then Dennis and Meg, and Tom and Nicole; its heartbreaking, its like, hello, hell-o, cant we all just get along? (And now Tom is dating Penelope Cruz. Whats that about? Do we really need Penelope Cruz-Cruise? Thats either a kinky sequel to The Love Boat or the femme fatale in The World According to Ruben Boumtje-Boumtje.)

And enough already with this water-torture Tauzin-Dingell bill, and the bleating about high-speed Internet access. I am so sick of these insufferably relentless radio and TV ads. Vote for Tauzin-Dingell! Say no to Tauzin-Dingell! I have reached the point where I hate Tauzin, I hate Dingell – I even hate Bill. I dont give a rats patootie about high-speed Internet access. At my age, the only high-speed access I want is to the restroom, thank you.

Ill tell you another thing I dont have energy for: the debate over biotech corn. Theres concern that genetically engineered corn (legally defined as corn with a distinctive Dacron flavor) is making its way into the food supply. Apparently, some people whove eaten it have claimed theyve had allergic reactions that range from mild itch to full-blown death. (The rest of us are merely mutating into rabbits.) And people want to know what they can do to stop being slowly poisoned by this naugahyde corn. Clearly the answer is: Eat freakin broccoli.

Life is simply too short to waste any time on things like books about John Adams. John Adams? Excuse me, the president after Adams was only the smartest man the country ever had, and the president before him was only the greatest wartime general the country ever had – other than Michael Corleone. John Adams is basically a salami sandwich between these guys. Unless John Adams could do something really cool, like take the tip of his tongue and touch his eyeballs, I have no time for him.

Have you seen the bestseller list lately? Two of the top three sellers in nonfiction are Who Moved My Cheese? and The Prayer of Jabez. First of all, I dont care who moved your cheese; I care who cut the cheese. Second of all, one of these stupid books is 96 pages long; the other is 94. Thats not a book, thats a catalogue. If all you have to do to get a bestseller is write 90 pages and slap a title on that rhymes with Cheese and Ja-beeze, how about Who Slashed My Trapeze? or Hey, Louise, I Lost My Keys, So Im Down on My Knees, And Jeez I Think Ive Gotta Sneeze, So Help Me Out and Order Some Cantonese, Please? Thats good, because the title alone might go 37 pages.

The one story out there I think is important is almost 450 firearms belonging to the FBI, including semiautomatic pistols, revolvers, assault rifles and shotguns, are either missing or unaccounted for.

Okay, this is a joke, right? Because 450 weapons didnt just walk out of FBI headquarters by themselves. I might remind you that J. Edgar Hoovers dresses never walked out of there. Strolled, maybe; sashayed, seductively slithered – but never walked.

Seriously, how did this happen? What are they doing at the front desk of the FBI, watching The Flintstones on TV Land?

Most of the time, though, I feel a little like how Betsy Gotbaum, the former president of the New-York Historical Society, must feel – overwhelmed. The other night Gotbaum introduced Bill Clinton at a fundraiser for the society.

She introduced Clinton as Richard Nixon.

© 2001 The Washington Post Company

He marched straight up to the counter and said, ‘Hi. You know….,I just HATE drawing welfare. I’d really rather have a job.

The social worker behind the counter said, ‘Your timing is excellent. We just got a job opening from a very wealthy old man who wants a Chauffeur and bodyguard for his beautiful daughter.
You’ll have to drive around in his 2008 Mercedes-Benz CL, and he will supply all of your clothes.

Because of the long hours, meals will be provided. You’ll also be expected to escort the
daughter on her overseas holiday trips.
This is rather awkward to say but you will also have as part of your job assignment to satisfy her sexual urges as the daughter is in her mid-20’s and has a rather strong sex drive.

The Cape Bretoner, just plain wide-eyed, said, ‘You’re bullshitting me!’

The social worker said, ‘ Yeah, well… You started it.

(You must have experienced pompous academicians to appreciate this
joke. You have been warned.)

Once upon a time, a young man went to the circus. He was very
excited, as he lived in western Manitoba and had never
seen a circus before; the kind of town where you shave and the
trolly stops. Anyway, as circus days drew nigh, the young man
grew ever more excited. He arrived before dawn to get the
best seat in the house, and was seated hours before the first
trapeze act.

Finally, the trapeze artists gave an awe-inspiring performance,
the elephants danced, and the lion tamer tamed. At last, the
clowns came out in full regalia and green hair. They rode around
by the gross in a purple volkswagon. The volksie pulled up
to center of the ring, and an overweight clown with orange
hair, acne, and a purple nose advanced to the podium:

Will the person in section A, row Y, seat 42 please stand up?

The young man looked at his ticket, and to his surprise, he was
sitting in that very seat. The young man stood up.

Clown sez, Wellllll, theres the horses ass, now wheres the
rest of the horse?

The man, dumbfounded, stood for a moment, then made his way
quickly through crowd and out of the tent. Returning home,
the man wept for days, and mourned the loss of dignity and honor.
Eventually reason overcame his grief and the man grew determined.
Im not going to get mad, Im going to get even, and avenge the
honor of myself, my family, and this town, exclaimed
the man. He picked up the curriculum guide for the University
of Nevada at Las Vegas (UNLV) correspondence courses and started
to read.

Eventually his eyes came to rest on an advert for a class in
Quick Wit Retort. Learn how to use those snappy comebacks
to your advantage, now! So the man sent in his $19.95 and
soon received the course materials. In a few weeks, the man
mastered the materials, and sent the final back to UNLV.

Much to his surprise, a registered letter arrived from the
president of UNLV. It read:

Dear Sir: We are utterly flabbergasted at your performance
in Quick Wit Retort 101. We would be most gratified if you
could come to UNLV to complete your degree with our fine
academic institution. Heres a check to cover your expenses.

To make a long story short :-), the man made straight As in
the QWR program. He was awarded numerous distinctions, and
when he graduated, the graduation speaker Ed Meese awarded
the man the Presidential Medal of Outstanding Quick Wit Retort,
signed by Ronnie himself!

Some days afterward, Harvard University sent a lear-jet to
pick the man up for an interview. The graduate admissions
officer didnt mince words. If you complete our masters/doctoral
tenured track program in QWR, you will never have
to worry about money again, said he. Needless to say, the man
promptly moved to Cambridge.

In 5 years, the man had finished his doctorate. By this time,
the man was known throughout the world as the leading expert
in Quick Wit Retort. Word had even reached western Manitoba,
which made his mother very proud. Everyone from Pentagon
pundits to Beltway bandits consulted the man on technical
questions of QWR.

One day, while sitting at his desk reading his hometown
newspaper, the man noticed that the circus was coming to
his hometown again. An evil smile crossed the mans face.
Siegfried, cried the man to his assistant, We must be
away to Manitoba. Ready the jet! As the plane crossed
the downlands of Michigan, the man savored the moment of
victory that was to be his.

The man arrived at the circus tent very early, making sure
to get the seat in section A, row Y, seat 42.

Finally, the trapeze artists gave an awe-inspiring performance,
the elephants danced, and the lion tamer tamed. At last, the
clowns came out in full regalia and green hair. They rode around
by the gross in a purple volkswagon. The volksie pulled up
to center of the ring, and an overweight clown with orange
hair, acne, and a purple nose advanced to the podium:

Will the person in section A, row Y, seat 42 please stand up?

The man glanced at his ticket. This time he was ready.

Clown sez, Wellllll, theres the horses ass, now wheres the
rest of the horse?

The man rose to his feet, full of confidence. He thrust out his
chest and said in the loudest voice you can imagine:

FUCK YOU, CLOWN!!!!

Robert C. White, Jr. Graphics Information, Inc.