Never Ending Campaign

Wednesday, June 7, 1995

Clinton Resigns!

Date:  95-06-07 09:42:27 EDT
From:  JGetz

(Spot opens on President Clinton, at his desk in the Oval office. He's
looking straight at the camera, deeply sincere)

Clinton: Hillary and I recently took time from our busy schedule to watch
"Forrest Gump." (holds up copy of the video) Never did see it when it first
come out...but now we have.  We were deeply moved. What...(tossing video)
what a piece of shit. And I understood, as never before, a powerful lesson
which that movie conveyed...sincerely, vacuously, without ambiguity.
The American people are stupid as hell.
Of course I knew that. I had always know that--but I didn't know how stupid.
I had made a classicly fatal political mistake: I overestimated the
intelligence of the American people.
I should have known better.
I knew that Americans deeply wanted image: an Underdog balloon of a president
floating down the Macy's Thanksgiving parade that is our political
Reagan was the slicked-back Grecian formula black-haired balloon of the
right. I would be the sax-playing, blow-dried blimp of the left.
Floated in on the strength of my blow-dried haircut--why was I surprised when
my fellow Americans turned on me, for the very haircut that put me into the
Oval Office?
I had chosen as my theme song an anthem from Fleetwood Mac--a mediocre band
of the 70's, at best a pale reflection of Jefferson Starship--itself a pale
self-parody of Jefferson Airplane:

Don't stop thinking about tomorrow
Don't stop
It'll soon be here
It'll be here
Better than before
Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone
Oooo...oooo...don't you look back

Stupid? Yes it was. I knew the lyrics were stupid--they made no sense
whatsoever. But they sounded good, and they made you feel good. And I knew
that's what the American people wanted: a commitment to think about tomorrow
without the slightest hint what the hell that meant.
But I had been thinking about tomorrow. The rumors were true: every President
received a secret briefing on day one of their term. It was worse than I
thought, it truly was. They showed me the books--and I couldn't stop
violently throwing up for at least an hour.
The American dream was finished--I knew that. And I knew there was no way to
tell the average American exactly what was going on--Fleetwood Mac would just
have to do. All I was trying to do was buy some time--just a little time--for
the baby boomers, and let Generation X hit the fan.
But even that was not to be.
I had made the fatal mistake of overestimating the intelligence of the
average American. Hard as I tried, I couldn't help using big words, talking
over your head. I'm a Harvard man--and I just can't help it. I couldn't
resist it,
 which is why I turned into the devil incarnate in the eyes of Joe Sixpack.
Like right now. I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I can't.
Because I know how to push your buttons--and it gives me a truly perverse
pleasure to do so. I know I could say I was a communist and you'd believe me.
Fact is, I'm secretly in the pay of Soviet spymasters, even to this day. They
told me back in the 60's: do not try to reform the system. Use terror and the
ruling class will react with force--creating class consciousness and exposing
the inherent contractions of the system. Basic Marxist Leninist strategy, but
I thought I knew better, a snot-nosed clean-for-Gene kid from Little Rock.
How wrong I was...
I could stand here before you now and confess: I did inhale.
I could stand before you now and confess: I killed Vince Foster. Most of you
would believe me, because you are immune to irony and satire--and there are
millions of you out there now who probably take my words as full confession.
On the other hand, I could tell you that the spirit of Vince Foster
personally channelled through me with the message:


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