comixc.jpg (2650 bytes)dailyc.jpg (2826 bytes)

bookc.jpg (3614 bytes)


a sensitive and well orchestrated open letter
to President Clinton
from the Editor in Chief of The Toilet Paper
(published in the wake of Monica)

Dear Mr. President:

Throughout our lengthy and memorable correspondence I have never once minced words, nor will I begin now: You are screwed. (Granted Kenneth Starr may contend "blown" is a more accurate adjective, though I know better.) The issue has become too hot to handle, even for you. But instead of rehashing what has already occurred, let us look to the future, to the scenarios that may result from the many options before you. This will help define the most prudent and in my opinion inevitable path upon which you must now embark.

I'll begin on a relatively optimistic note. Should you fight on to preserve your presidency and succeed in staving off the calls for impeachment, you face the prospect of constant ridicule at home, diminished respect and power abroad, and an utter lack of moral authority. You have brought shame upon your family for a thousand generations. Perhaps most seriously, you have proven beyond even the faintest shadow of a doubt that no matter how high a man from Arkansas might climb, he is still incapable of passing up a quickie from a chubby youngster he refers to as "Kiddo". Despite of all this, by refusing to resign you will avoid a glaring footnote in history textbooks as a President who in disgrace. Instead you will simply be the President who rechristened the Oval Office as 'The Oral Orifice." Fighting is certainly preferable to the disgrace of resignation.

Unfortunately, the cries for impeachment are growing louder. Democrats are fleeing your side like rats from a sinking, Gored ship. Republicans are licking their chops. And Ross Perot is said to be preparing a whole slew of charts. Is it really wise to risk impeachment? You're running out of options, Mr. President. If you continue down the slippery slope of apologies and simultaneous attacks you'll be backed into a corner from which the only way out is impeachment. Therefore, I cannot in good conscious advise you to continue the stalling and fighting tactics that would allow you to complete your term as President.

Thus we arrive at a brick wall, you should not resign nor should you press on. Is the "screwed" part of my initial assessment coming into focus? Well, take a swig of whisky and then we'll sharpen up the imagery a bit more.

Regardless of a resignation, impeachment or completion of your term, you have forever tainted your historical legacy. Mr. Clinton, you will no longer be remembered as the brilliant President who led America through unprecedented progress, purpose and prosperity. Instead, you are forever the President who shoved a cigar into the genitalia of an intern half his age and then solemnly swore under oath and in addresses to the nation that he did not have "sexual relations with that woman". Mt. Rushmore credentials these are not. You're legacy will forever be defiled by that horrific and detailed Report. (A quick side point: Henceforth, the "Report" will be dramatically capitalized in every article of The Toilet Paper,

Beyond the excruciating shame and the scathing historical perspective, there is the pain that will come when Hilary finally dumps your sorry ass. This is of course an inevitability for a woman as independent and liberated as your soon to be ex-wife. Then there are the crippling legal fees that will mount as more and more past women come out of the woodwork to sue in civil proceedings. They will pursue you doggedly across that same damn bridge that you and Al built. You will soon be penniless, paying alimony to Hillary, mounting legal fees to your increasing agitated and impatient attorneys, and divvying up the remainder of your comparably meager savings to roughly 2% of the female population of this country. (Fortunately you will be too busy with domestic lawsuits to attend any court calls abroad).

Alas, you will not qualify for Welfare and Social Security will be a mere memory, a fantasy of the very old as your golden years approach. Of course in your rejected and dejected state, you'll be too depressed to jog or work out. You'll gain weight at an alarming rate, will no longer fit into your suits and will be forced to appear in court in sweatpants and a stained T-shirt as your budget will no longer permit expenditures on things as frivolous as clothing. On the brief vacations from the endless parade of civil suits, you'll hitchhike home to Arkansas only to howl savagely as the full irony of "a town called Hope" becomes apparent.

Mr. President, this is not a good situation. You are going to be hounded and hunted until the day you die. Which leads us to the only obvious and rational answer. Mr. Clinton... Bill... Bubba... it has become all too obvious to everyone but yourself that you must commit suicide. You will die a victim of the evil right-wing conspiracy protecting your place in history. Ken Starr will lose his newfound moral victories and sulk back to Pepperdine University. The sympathy and outpouring of a sheepish press will be tremendous. You will delight Al Gore, because at this point even Dan Quayle could beat him in 2000 and he really, really wants to have his own affairs in the White House. Best of all, those nettlesome woman, Monica and Paula and Christine and Jennifer and Barbara (yeah, I know about your romp in the Jefferson Memorial with Ms. Bush)... not a one of them will get a single cent.

Bill, you will be missed tremendously. Ad revenues on the internet will plummet. CNN ratings will fall off by a third. McDonald's will lose its most recognizable customer. But it must be done. You must now engage in the ancient ritual of seppuku. And I'm confident most Americans would be proud to assist.


TP Editor In Chief
"We're on a roll!"

Thanks for reading.  Thoughts?

Click Here!