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TO MARIA, WITH LOVE
Memo: Buck up and Bulk Up!
From: Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton
To: Maria Shriver
Date: October 1, 2003
Dear Maria,
If anyone understands what you're going through with all the sexual misconduct allegations against that big, stupid, lug, Arnold, it's me. So, from one woman to another, I'm taking a few minutes out of my incredibly hectic day — normally filled with representing the interests of campaign-contributors and overseeing my staff of ghostwriters — to offer a little unsolicited advice. Remember, what I tell you here, I say only as a "sister" who has more experience with public, marital humiliation than you and the rest of the Kennedy women combined. So, listen up!
First of all, no one's proven anything. Until there's an Austrian-love-juice-soaked dress, that's been examined by Marg Helgenberger under a microscope and then waved around on Larry King's show, I wouldn't get my panties in a twist. Arnold will probably shake off the whole scandal like a hundred pound barbell in a Mr. Universe competition. God knows, there are only, what, 15 accusers so far? In comparison to my husband and his women, that amount doesn't even register as competition. Though I will say, with some pride, that Bill was a bit smoother. I mean, grabbing a woman and spanking her while telling her "This is what should happen at your house every morning," is a little on the gauche side, don't you think? Of course, if that's what actually goes on at your house, I say, as an elected defender of the Bill of Rights, it's a free county.
Second, it's not like groping and fondling are the same as getting a blowjob. The only hummers you're certain about, for now, are those eight gas-guzzlers parked in your driveway. Even that crazy, neo-feminist Camille Paglia, will back up the idea that women who get in the way of powerful men should expect a little hanky panky. After all, she built her whole career on the concept that date rape is a given, and women who don't expect it are asking to find someone's tongue up their anus when they least expect it. Maybe you can get her to write one of those editorials in Salon where she calls women, who are victims of sexual aggression, "blithering whiners".
So what if Arnold grabbed a few tits and ass here and there on movie sets or in parking garages? So what if he publicly exposed a woman's breasts in a crowded bar? So what if he told a sixteen year old he was going to rape her? Maybe those women should have stayed off the Universal City lot — or the city streets for that matter — if they didn't want some harmless flirtation to come their way. Besides, what do people expect from a guy who's pumped up on steroids? In fact, has he thought of using that as a defense: Insanity by reason of hormonal toxicity? In the end, the is, is, that if he didn't get "all up in there" — as the kids say on those rap albums that Tipper had the parental warning labels slapped on — there is no is.
Third, between you and me, it's not like you didn't already know about this stuff. Everyone else did. Come on, you must have walked in on a few disheveled upstairs maids by now. It's a good thing most of those Central Americans you hire in Los Angeles "no speak very good English". Hey, I know you have to play dumb as part of the bread and circus tent show. If anyone understands how to keep her mouth shut during a campaign, it's me. I even know that if they ever CSI his handprints off of a pointy, California, silicone-enhanced, boob somewhere, you are going to have to play up the aggrieved, but long-suffering wife thing. I say from experience, it's always better to keep your mouth shut while you can.
However, you do live in a state where everyone seems to have a video camera with him or her at all times — or at least when some black guy is getting beaten half comatose in South Central. Therefore, you never know when explicit footage of Arnold with his hands down some intern's pantyhose will surface. I advise you now, that when making a statement can no longer be avoided, being prepared always saves the day. In your spare time, I would consider practicing lines like, "That's not the Arnold I know," "If all that were proven true, I think that would be a very serious offense. That is not going to be proven true," and "I believe in him so strongly and I love him very much." Say them in the mirror. Try different expressions when repeating the words. I can't stress enough that practice makes perfect and it is imperative to gain mastery over your emotions and to look sincere.
Speaking of looks, you live in Hollywood, so I don't have to tell you, they are everything. That's why I'm suggesting that you try putting on a couple of pounds — and pronto. Judy Mazel might call it the "Beverly Hills Diet," but to the Lifetime-TV-loving heartland (I'm talking Fresno, here) emaciation still looks like the eating disorder that it is. The anorexia thing you have going on, it was creepy enough a couple of years ago when the Enquirer was reporting that your marriage was on the rocks. But right now it's imperative that you present an image that says, happy, happy, happy, not starving, starving, starving. Plus, when trying to support a husband who is attempting to live down his stated admiration for Adolph Hitler, it's best not to look like you were just liberated from a work camp.
The public might believe that one can never be "too rich," but you are living evidence for overturning the "too thin," portion of the axiom. Since nothing goes better with happy, than fat, I suggest that you consider that a few lumps added to your ass now will save a lot of public grief later. Even during the worst of the Monica Lewinsky business, Bill still had his daily Big Mac. I know Arnold's a fitness freak, and you're probably afraid to eat. Still, try to gag down some of that bulk-building powder, the kind I'm sure he has lying around the home gym somewhere. It's not the best-tasting stuff, but now that he's in politics, you're going to have to get used to swallowing a lot worse. Besides, who knows, another layer of fat might come in handy with the spankings.
Getting a bit philosophical for a moment, I think it was Dr. Phil who said, we all relive our family experiences through our marriages. This is not a set up to reveal anything about myself that I haven't already said in my book, "Living History." By the way, have you gotten a chance to read it yet? It was a bestseller. I'd offer to mail you one, but I figure you've already snagged the press copy from the NBC studios. If not, it's only $16.80 from Amazon.com and you can get free shipping if you also buy "It Takes a Village". What I was going to say, was that it is certainly ironic that you thought you were marrying a movie star, but you ended up with, "can't keep his pants on" uncle Jack (or Bobby or Teddy). Let me say it again, practicing benign facial expressions now, will come in handy for that inevitable day you'll be asked to confront your very own, "Happy Birthday, Mr. Terminator," moment. Honestly, can it be far off?
Last, I just want to remind you that if you want to make it in politics yourself one day, and who doesn't, you're going to have to stay in this marriage no matter what. (I'm sure your Grandma Rose already told you this, but it's always nice to have a refresher course.) That "journalist" routine is okay for now, while he's in office. But later, it'll be your turn. Just think how you'll be able to build on your face recognition then, when running for Congress or whatever.
Look, I still don't even know what happened between Bill and Babs, but do you think I care about that? If I'd been looking for grounds for divorce, I had a long list before she came shuffling along smelling of "Evergreen". Nope, I'm running for president one of these days, and I intend to hold on to my husband as long as necessary to stave off the muff-diver rumors.
In conclusion, you have my deepest sympathies and I'm here for you if you need a shoulder to cry on — or just someone to remind you that men are pigs. Now, paste on that big, toothy smile, and start picking out the new drapes for the governor's mansion.
Sincerely,
Hillary
P.S. I'm sure it goes without saying, that if asked, I will officially deny all of this.
LAZY SUZANNE ARCHIVE -CURRENT- 2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12 |
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DIET AIR
 Surely the marketing geniuses at Snapple could not have been irony-free when naming one of their new "Elements" juice drinks, "Diet Air". (What, regular air is too fattening?)
I came upon this colorless apparition in a refrigerated drink case recently, and my only reaction was to guffaw long and loudly. "Diet Air" was nestled among it's brethren drinks, from what must be part of the "Earth, Wind and Bulimia" collection, all with monikers like "Sun," "Spark," "Meteor," "Volcano," "Fire" and "Rain," to name a few. They are juice blends that purport to induce the qualities implied by their names when ingested.
I'd seen fire and I'd seen rain, but decided to try the fire. Despite its fancy list of ingredients, including: water, high fructose corn syrup, pear juice from concentrate, citric acid, natural dragonfruit, raspberry, strawberry, and lime flavors with other natural flavors, extracts of ginseng and guarana, dragonfruit puree, caffeine, red 40, blue 1, it tasted precisely like red Kool-Aid. Not at all what I expected "fire" to taste like. At $3 per bottle, that was some expensive sugar water. But what of "Diet Air"?
Since I live in a city where the air can be tasted for free, whether one likes it or not, I didn't try it. Plus I tend to shy away from products containing brain-disease inducing, aspartame. However, here's what the label tells us: Serving Size (fl oz) 8 Servings per Container 2.5, Juice Content (%) 5, Calories 10, Total Fat (g) 0, % Daily Value (Fat) 0, Sodium (mg) 10 %, Daily Value (Sodium) 0, Total Carb (g) 2 %, Daily Value (Carb) 0, Sugars (g) 2, Protein (g) 0, Vitamin C (%) 0, Ingredients: water, white grape juice, from concentrate, citric acid, natural peach flavor with other natural flavors, potassium citrate, aspartame, extracts of ginseng, guarana, ginkgo biloba, peach juice from concentrate. Percent Daily Values are based on a 2,000-calorie diet.
First of all, I hate products that tell me how many calories are contained in a serving, but which routinely provide more than one serving per container. Still at 25 calories per bottle, it's not bad. Second, I don't know anyone who is on a diet who uses a 2,000-calorie per day model as a means of losing weight. But what I really object to is the idea that air in Los Angeles could taste like anything one could make from blending grape and pear juices. Just to round out their selections — when air is just not cool enough, perhaps — Snapple also makes "Diet Ice."
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