| Dear friends,
The Professor has watched the unfolding Clinton vs. Starr drama with varying degrees of disgust, amusement, fright, and contempt, and can no longer hold back his wrath. His meme must be released. The following dispatch is vulgar, coarse, and rife with profanity and general nastiness, but the Professor believes in fighting fire with fire. If you are easily offended, please stop reading now. You have been warned. Persons under 18 are advised to go back to watching Melrose Place and ignore pornographic political filth like the tirade below.
A Rant by Professor Pan I’ve always said the best way to win an argument is to humiliate
our opponent. Everybody’s sex life is embarrassing. But is it
worth the stock market crashing? Is it worth war with other countries?
Is it worth the president becoming a laughingstock? No. The aim of the law is not to punish sins. An avidity to punish is always dangerous to liberty. It leads
men to stretch, to misinterpret, and to misapply even the best
of laws. He that would make his own liberty secure must guard
even his enemy from oppression; for if he violates this duty he
establishes a precedent that will reach to himself.
May Hell and damnation rain down upon this miserable excuse for a nation if we impeach William Jefferson Clinton for getting his dick sucked by Monica Lewinsky. If we throw a man out of the highest office in the land just for sticking his penis into another adult, then may the genitalia of all non-celibate Americans burn and erupt with pus-filled sores. If we flog him at the pillory for adultery against Hillary, then may all of our licentious leaders burst into flame and explode. I expect the cataclysm would burn down all of D.C. within minutes. If we burn Bill at the stake for being a liar, may all of our prevaricating lips be sliced with razorblades, doused with gasoline, and set afire. Presidents are a sleazy bunch; they always have been and they always will be. Jefferson may have nailed and knocked up one of his slaves. Jack Kennedy fucked anything that moved while blasted on Dr. Feelgood’s amphetamine injections. In a fit of rage, manic-depressive Lyndon Johnson waved his "not-insubstantial" member in front of two startled journalists, according to his biographer. It was commonly known among journalists that skull-and-bonesman George Herbert Walker Bush had a little dish on the side, but the tenor of those days did not permit the "outing" of the mistress. Power-seeking men are usually assholes, and power-seeking assholes get off on sleeping with lots of women. This is not a startling new development. We knew that Bill Clinton was a draft-dodging, womanizing, pot-smoking pig from the first time he looked us in the eye. That is why I voted for him. I was elated that he had smoked pot like every other normal kid of his time and dodged a hellish, immoral war. I was happy that he had a randy streak, and assumed his marriage was probably the typical "don’t ask, don’t tell" relationship of loveless, powerful couples. He was a lot more like me than fading Cold Warriors George Bush or Bob Dole. And he seemed refreshingly honest in his dishonesty--he knew that we knew that he was lying through his teeth, but he smiled and we smiled and the band was playing Fleetwood Mac and crazy shit seemed possible again. The old farts were gone, and bright, fresh-faced yupsters were moving into D.C. We all knew it could be far worse. And speaking of Bush, why in God’s name didn’t we consider selling arms for hostages and financing Central American death squads as impeachable offenses? Lawrence Walsh had many opportunities to pursue the sexual secrets of the Reagan/Bush administration (as he admitted on CNN’s Talk Back Live), but chose like a decent human being to leave private matters alone. But he did uncover very real criminal offenses. Do such real crimes pale in comparison to fucking a goddam intern? What Witchhunter General Kenneth "The Hammer" Starr and his shadow network of moneyed cronies have done is to defecate upon a very sacred right–the right to sexual privacy. If we acquiesce to the government peeping in on our bedroom escapades, we might as well join hands and goosestep self-righteously into a puritanical, fascist state. So what if Monica Lewinsky was only 21 when Bill gave her the business. I don’t give a fuck. "It takes two to tango," as Pearl Bailey sang. There are thirteen-year-old girls who walk the streets in my neighborhood pushing baby carriages and smoking cigarettes. That’s what I worry about. A well-off, preppy, power-hungry, big-haired, and pleasantly plump woman of 21 who sucks the president’s cock, contemplating a six-figure book deal while he dribbles a wad of semen on her conservative, blue Gap dress, doesn’t concern me in the least. Bully for her. Monica Lewinsky has gotten herself fucked into celebrityhood and millions of dollars. If only we all had it so tough. When I was younger, we had a word for a woman who would eagerly suck the cock of someone she barely knew. That word is slut. Serial adulterers like Bill Clinton thrive on sluts. They provide quick and easy sex without the complications of a relationship. Many men have had their first sexual experiences with women who enjoy casual sex--and God bless those generous women for the education and enjoyment they dispense. Bill Clinton miscalculated, however, when he didn’t see the warning signs that she was mentally unstable and obsessive. Monica acted like a slut, slurping up Clinton’s member at every opportunity, but she desperately wanted to believe that she was just a cute little schoolgirl who sent love letters (written in loopy cursive writing and signed with HUGS!!!!, no doubt) and cheesy gifts to the President. Clinton, whether led only by his own insatiable pecker or by her flirtatious advances, picked the wrong woman to use as a sex toy. Monica wanted his love as well as his penis in her mouth and his hands on her tits. And if she didn’t get his love, she was going to make him pay. And if you don’t believe she cleverly plotted to nail "the Creep" Clinton for discarding her, I ask you one simple question: What kind of woman, pray tell, keeps a cum-stained dress as a momento? And then sends it to her mother for safekeeping? It boils down to this: I don’t care if Bill Clinton puts on Hillary’s bra and panties, smears baby food all over himself, and jerks off to the Teletubbies. I don’t care if he and Monica tied each other up and stuck cigars up each others’ asses. It ain’t none of my goddamned business if they did. It’s none of Kenneth Starr’s. And it’s none of yours. I pray for the soul of this country when our most pressing concern is the tawdry affair of a man who lied about something that no one had any right to ask him about in the first place. If you want to oppose Clinton, oppose him for dumping women and children off the welfare rolls into hopeless poverty or bombing Sudan or any of his other wretched accomplishments. But if you people impeach him for having sex and lying about it, you’re all fucked in a more profound way than Monica Lewinsky ever was.
Thus sayeth the Professor
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