Speaking of sanctimonious pricks, how about Al Gore? The National Enquirer reported last week that Gore jumped the bones of a 54 year old masseuse in Portland, Oregon. She's claiming sexual assault, albeit a few years after the alleged incident. Now this is just too rich. Remember how Gore distanced himself from Clinton during his 2000 presidential campaign because he didn't want to get soiled by the latter's philandering slime? (What a great way to show gratitude to the guy who had brung him to the dance.) The details of the incident provide one of the funniest reads that I've had in a long time. Gore comes across as just what exactly he is, a real doofus. I think the Yiddish equivalent is schlemiel.
The masseuse, who refers to herself as "Grandma," describes how she got a call for a late-night appointment at the fancy hotel where Gore was staying. Gore, a beer in one hand, met her at the door with a big welcoming hug. Grandma thought that Gore, whom she describes as "rotund," held the hug just a little too long. She noted, "I try to keep an open, professional mind and a sense of the 'benefit of the doubt...' I assumed he must be engaging in something like 'the new ages politician casual mode'...a kind of beneficent patriarch thing going on it seemed." Grandma masseuse might not be too articulate, but already she's evincing real comic understatement.
Grandma perfectly describes the essence of Gore: "He had a dramatic display of violent temper as well as extremely dictatorial commanding attitude besides his Mr. Smiley Global Warming concern persona." How perfect. No only is this guy an asshole, he's a phony to boot.
Grandma continues, "While he was face down, he suddenly asked me, 'What has become clear to you lately?'...I asked him what he had become clear lately about himself and he said, 'Letting go of results.'" What the hell was he talking about? Could he still be crying over the 2000 election? What has become clear to you lately...that has to rank up there with other enigmatic queries such as when that guy beat up Dan Rather on the streets of New York and kept saying, "What's the frequency, Kenneth?"
Gore evidently at this point felt that he had established enough of an emotional connection with Grandma that he could command her to massage down from the "safe, non-sexual area of the abdomen" to where his manhood dangled.
Grandma figured that this would be a good time to mention Tipper to him as a way to tamp down his rising prurience. Then, "I started backpeddling with something well, about well, everybody's relationship or marriage is a private affair. No one really knows with absolute certainty what is the true arrangement that was private with Bill and Hillary for example...I really stepped in it because talk about Bill and Hillary is like a real sore point with this guy. And I didn't know so he's just like roar..." Gore, lying on a massage table, roaring over Billary. Heheheh...
What followed after the "roar" was one of the most mangled seduction attempts of all times. Gore lured Grandma into the bedroom to listen to a "song about the current president that would shock me. The song was 'Dear Mr. President' by Pink...As soon as he had it playing, he turned to me and immediately flipped me flat on my back and threw his whole body face down over atop me, pinning me down and outweighing me by quite a bit. Get off me, you big lummox! I loudly yelled protested to him...We lay on our sides a couple of feet apart, looking at each other as he played the song, him singing along with it as if he were revealing deep feeling like some bizarre karaoke and me stuck there. He prevailed upon me to listen to just this one other song about women's feeling and their inner self and trust that he said his wife introduced him to, which is about a woman choosing to let a man into her deeper self or some such thing."
Wow! If Grandma is making this stuff up, then it would be a downright tragedy if she didn't put such a fertile imagination to good use as a novelist or sit-com writer. Grandam does say that since the encounter with her pal Al, she has had trouble sleeping and has been terrified to make any more out-calls. Furthermore, the big lummox managed to unsettle the core of her political beliefs: "That is what's been really hard with this. Um, because I, I, you know, live in the 'Birkenstock Tribe,' and it's like being the ultimate traitor. And, by the by, there are people, um...one who was basically just asking me to suck it up, otherwise the world's going to be destroyed by global warming."
Grandma, in her own inimitably inarticulate, stammering way concludes, "The mind trip with this thing is it's just like instead of swallowing a pill, it's like trying to swallow one the size of a globe. And having to carry a mantle for if the world falls apart, according to people's belief system, it's all on me. And I'm, like, that's so crazy-making."
So what's up with Al? Is he going through a mid-life crisis of some sort, although at the age of 60-something one would think that he's a bit old for that. Is he having some slow-mo nervous breakdown? Nah, I just think the guy has been reading his own press and thinks that his own shit doesn't stink anymore since he got his Academy Award and Nobel Prize. Like Grandma, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and grant that he probably has been mostly faithful to Tipper, notwithstanding that DC is a hedonist swamp and there seems to be no dearth of wannabes and climbers who are willing to give a geezer congressman a blow job if it means getting that coveted slot as an aide on the House Ways and Means Committee. Now that he's the Cock of the Walk in Hollywood and various other bastions of brainless liberalism, he thinks he's invincible, too cool to care...just like Slick Willie, Tiger Woods and a host of other Viagra-fueled, celebrity middle-aged juveniles. Sycophants and hanger-ons have told these guys that they are "rock stars" and they finally come to believe it.
But Clinton, Gore's erstwhile mentor and nemesis, at least had some suaveness to his debauchery. Like What's-her-name, bimbo eruption five, said the guy was really good at munching her rug. That won points with a Southern buddy of mine who said, "Hey, how can you not like a guy who likes eating greasy fried chicken and pussy." Okay, I might be able to buy into that. But Gore can't even manage to swing it with a 54 year old massage hag. And can you imagine any of Slick Willie's "paramours" describing him a "crazed sex poodle" as Grandma with such devastation described Gore? Clinton would have had the panties off Grandma in no time.
This episode only confirms what I've always thought about Al, namely that he's a bit nutso, missing a few bars in his cellphone, so to speak. For example, his trouble with the truth, like his claim to have invented the internet, may be more than a moral deficiency but something more pathological. And when three completely different Al Gores showed up in the debates with W., the "Twilight Zone" theme music sounded across the nation. The fact that a verbally challenged, half-wit like W. could best Gore in all three debates totally negated any talk about how "brilliant" Al is. By the way, why does the media always characterise Republican candidates as dumb and all Democratic candidates as "brilliant"? The only Republican in modern history that the media and academia didn't declare stupid was Richard Nixon; of course, he was smart like Satan is smart in their book, assuming the liberal media believe in Satan.
Anyway, all I can say is Thank the Lord that jackass didn't become president. Say what you will about W., he isn't a big fat doofus.