Love Slaves of the Potomac
June 7, 2002
By Hank Blakely

For a time I was becoming a little downhearted about this Enron thing. But, with recent news from Houston, the song of the lark has returned to my garden. I'm feeling almost chipper now.

The affair to date has been as predictable as an up-or-down vote on a Congressional pay-raise. We've seen the usual parade of horse-thieves, shell-gamers and bagmen rushing madly from side to side of the sinking ship, frantically trying to beat each other to the lifeboats.

While this activity is not without its own clownish charm, one nonetheless senses something missing � some overlooked, possibly piquant je ne sais quoi...some hint of verve...some smidgen of zest.

Oh, all right, sex.

I hope you won't think me a fan of moral error per se, it's only that, given the laughably small chance of deriving any substantive social benefit from our political leaders, it would seem the least they could do is entertain us. And what could be more entertaining than sex? I mean if you aren't Mrs. Strom Thurmond.

The concept of turpitude as a form of public service is one that has long been recognized and diligently honored by Democrats. Members of the Party of Jackson have always had a keen and innate appreciation of the fleshly joys, and pursue them with avid glee. One thinks back to happy spring days in a Democratically-ruled Washington when the air would be filled with the scent of cherry blossoms and the soft, insistent rustle of bed-linen.

Sadly, the current administration seems to have dropped -- if you will -- the ball and fallen woefully short of its concupiscent obligations. To be sure, there have been one or two Republican leaders who have stumbled upon the concept of removable underwear, but these occurrences are infrequent and quickly forgotten. In general, the GOP is required to hold a mirror to its lips to establish proof of life.

But recently from Newsweek come reports of pernicious hoo-hah and carryings-on behind the shuttered, bolted, barred, barricaded, locked, tightly battened and arc-welded doors of the Enron corporation. We learn now of boozy parties, office assignations, strippers, lap dancers, "office wives," and other un-churchly mischief.

The effect of these revelations upon my mood was both immediate and electric. "Hot puppies!" I shouted, gleefully rubbing my hands together, "Now we're gettin' somewhere!"

Regrettably, these accounts omit reference to anyone named "Trixie" or "Bubbles" but there is plenty to indicate that a new Sodom and Gomorra is springing whole from the Southwestern soil.

In the wake of these revelations, speculation necessarily strains to discern the implications for the Republican party's future; particularly for the present administration, which has long been -- how to put this -- "especially attentive" to the concerns of the Enron corporation. One presumes a contaminant effect and envisions the consequent headlines:

"I WAS STROM THURMOND'S LOVE SLAVE! (Exotic dancer reveals, 'Nonagenarian never said "No-No" to me')"

ELIZABETH DOLE INVOLVED IN VIAGRA STING! ('I was living in a fool's paradise', confesses erstwhile Presidential candidate)"

Clearly, this is a turning point for the conservative movement in America, but one that might well have a salubrious effect on the public's interest in -- as it were -- domestic affairs .

Certainly, newspaper readership will improve.

 
Hank Blakely is the creator and publisher of the online satirical Journal, "W: The Phantom Presidency," at www.dystopical.com.