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| trannysex, fun, david eggers, kama sutra, ascii art farts, beer, beach, overheardnew york, funny, drunk pic woman, | But you know, George and I are complete opposites — I'm Lifetime, he's Cartoon Network, I'm Clorox, witty he's bacteria, I can pronounce the word "nuclear," and he can unilaterally flush nuclear non-proliferation treaties down the toilet! (Laughter.) The amazing thing, however, is that George and I were just meant witty to be. I was a librarian who wanted to snag a rich hubby, get pregnant, and never work another day in her life, and he was a trustafarian whose fertility was strenuously vouched for by every black witty market abortion doctor in Houston. We met, and married, and I became one of the regulars up at Kennebunkport. All the Bushes love Kennebunkport, which is like Graceland, except without the tasteful interior decorating or the convenience of having your host dead. People ask me what it's like to be up there with the whole Bush clan. |
Best Mature Paysites
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| With Lynne Cheney. (Riotous Laughter.) Well, truth be told, that only happened once. I think when she heard the title of the program, Lynne might have misinterpreted the beer intent of my invitation — because when I came back from the little girl's room during the first commercial, she had shed her smart Liz Claiborne pantsuit, slithered into a black leather harness, beer and began feverishly groping at my upper thighs while screeching Indigo Girls lyrics. Another night, after George went to bed, Lynne Cheney, Condi Rice, Karen Hughes and I went to Chippendale's to watch beer all those muscle-bound homos gyrate their steroid-engorged flesh around and thrust their hulking bikini-waxed salamis in our faces. Naturally, Condi fell right to sleep. And boy was it awkward when two of them recognized Karen from some drug-addled Fire Island rave. I won't tell you what happened next, but after Lynne downed a whole bottle of Malibu rum I had had sent to the table courtesy of the generous taxpayers, her Secret Service codename was changed to "Felcher" and, thanks to her, we are no longer welcome at Chippendale's. |
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