Vicki Morgan Sex Tapes 3/3
art guerrilla
Robert K. Steinberg is a civil law specialist in partner-
ship with celebrated criminal lawyer Vincent Bugliosi.
Why Steinberg, of all the name attorneys in Los Angeles,
was selected to receive the three tapes is anybody’s
guess. The only conceivable link is a mutual friend of
Steinberg and Marvin Pancoast named Cindy Stone-
house. But there is also a report that another attorney got
two of the tapes, which he intends to hold for a while
before putting them up for auction.
On July 12, 1983 Steinberg held a press conference to
announce the existence of the tapes. He said that he and
two others - one a lawyer, the other a federal employee
- had viewed them over a weekend. They appeared to
be a few years old, and showed Bloomingdale and five
other men, one a former U.S. Congressman and two
others currently holding high posts in the Reagan ad-
ministration. The sex tapes, Steinberg asserted, could
“bring down the Reagan government.”
A few days later Steinberg’s bombshell scoop was
reduced to ashes when, faced with a court order to turn
the tapes over to the police, he alibied that they had been
stolen from a jogging bag in his office during the press
conference. A mocking media turned the tapes into the
Maltese Falcon of the Vicki Morgan case. But The Rebel
has interviewed a person close to the situation (not
Steinberg) who contends that the tapes do exist, and
show three separate sessions: (1) Vicki Morgan, Alfred
Bloomingdale and an unidentified female; (2) Barry
Goldwater Jr., Edwin Meese and one of Bloomingdale’s
oldtime pals, and (3) unnamed Reagan associates with
females.
The Rebel’s investigation has also developed a source
who claims to have seen the tapes and whose description
of them and their contents is convincingly specific:
- The tapes are in black and white, on Betamax cas-
settes.
- The cassettes are protected by a spongy material,
deep maroon in color.
- The tapes run for approximately 18 to 20 minutes.
- All three tapes were filmed in the same location, a
recreation or large conference room devoid of furniture
except for several couches against the walls.
- The sex acts are for the most part oral copulation,
either on the couches or the floor.
- Although apparently taken with a hand-held cam-
era, the tapes are quite clear.
The flip side of what could be called, for journalistic
convenience, the Steinberg tapes, is the Flynt tape.
When Steinberg hit the news with his announcement of
the tapes, The Rebel publisher Larry Hynt began nego-
tiations to buy them for $100 million. But before a deal
could be struck Steinberg issued his second announce-
ment that they had been stolen. Shortly thereafter Flynt
somehow came into the possession of several additional
sex tapes. He has played one of them for a number of
media people, among them representatives of the ABC,
NBC and CNN television networks and the Los Angeles
Times.
Its vintage is uncertain but it depicts a man closely
resembling Ronald Reagan taking off his clothes and
fondling a young woman attired in English riding habit,
complete with boots and crop. She has a dildo strapped
to her pelvis. After a brief blank section the tape picks
up with the pair on a couch, the woman performing anal
sex with the dildo. The journalists who viewed this tape
have not reported it either in their profiles of Flynt or
separately. To the media it is apparently non-news, too
touchy to touch without ironclad proof of its pedigree,
possibly even a film Flynt himself produced and
directed.
In fact the tale of the tapes has been largely ignored by
the bloodhounds of the Fourth Estate. Only the parochial
LA. Weekly, which ran the Bardach article, has named
names. In a sidebar to the Ann Bardach article, the
editors declared that “sources the Weekly would tend to
believe are reliable say that Meese almost certainly
appears to be one of the men on such tapes, even given
the difficulty of making a positive identification of
someone on a videotape. According to an extremely
reliable source, Vicki knew Meese and met with him
both before and after the elections. Meese, it might be
noted, was a friend of Bloomingdale’s who met Vicki
through Bloomingdale and, according to the source, saw
her several times more.”
If members of Reagan’s upper management do appear
on the tapes it would not be wildly out of character. They
are the type of men who call their women “Honey,” play
with them like Barbie Dolls, and attend the annual
summer stag parties of the Bohemian Club on the bu-
colic Russian River in Northern California. This Bac-
chanalian rite shrouded by the redwoods commingles
the most powerful business and government leaders in
the country, figures such as Henry Kissinger, Gen. Alex-
ander Haig and Caspar Weinberger. In recent years the
encampment has attracted the attention of the local
sheriff, who noticed a sudden influx of prostitutes just
as the festivities were getting under way. One hooker
interviewed by the LA. Weekly boasted of a dalliance a
few years ago with George Shultz, then a top officer of
the Bechtel Corporation and now Secretary of State.
The Bloomingdale Affair hangs like a thread-sus-
pended sword over the Reagan re-election bid. Should
the tapes somehow be authenticated, they would be far
more graphic evidence than “Deep Throat” was able to
furnish Woodward and Bernstein. Unlike Watergate, the
issue is not the cover-up of dirty tricks, but keeping the
lid on a sex scandal in which the national security may
well have been compromised.
At this the administration has experience. In 1967,
during Reagan’s first months as California governor,
word began to seep out of a homosexual ring inside his
staff which used a Lake Tahoe cabin as aparty pad. Since
this was long before gay liberation, a full-blown sex
scandal was in the making. Reagan moved quickly,
forcing the resignation of several aides, and the threat
blew over. Only feisty Drew Pearson in his Washington
Merry-Go-Round column did any hard-core reporting
on it. Reagan tipped his nasty side by waming, “If Drew
Pearson ever sets foot in California he better not spit on
the sidewalk.”
The American public may abide, even applaud such
heroics as invading tiny Grenada, playing nuclear chick-
en with the Russians and mounting covert actions
against the socialist Third World. But it would have little
tolerance for an administration populated by carnal cow-
boys. It would have even less tolerance for men of great
power and great responsibility being involved in the
bloody silencing of Morgan. Verification of contents of
the tapes could spell disaster for an entire collection of
some very austere gentlemen. Their involvement in the
murder of Morgan could undo a whole administration.
(sidebar to article)
Alfred Bloomingdale: Merchant, Power Broker & Spymaster
by Donald Freed
Alfred Bloomingdale was Victoria Morgan’s lover,
patron and “sugar daddy.” And Alfred Blooming-
dale was Ronald Reagan’s spy master.
The public image of Bloomingdale is almost complete-
ly a myth. Painted in the press as a wealthy playboy and
sometime member of Ronald Reagan’s “Kitchen Cab-
inet,” Bloomingdale is just one more in a series of dirty
old men in the public pantheon of scandal and gossip in
high places. In reality, Bloomingdale lived a life astride
the inner workings of power in America - one leg in
organized crime, one leg in covert actions and espion-
age.
The story begins in 1916. Bloomingdale is born into
the great department story family. The young Bloom-
ingdale attended Brown University and settled into the
family store in 1938. He dabbled in show business,
producing and financing Broadway shows, among them
the Ziegfeld Follies. But his career as an entrepreneur
was short-lived.
In 1946 Bloomingdale married L.A. socialite Betsy
Newling, well-known even then for her frequent parties
and charity affairs. During this period of the late 1940s
Bloomingdale began his relationship, which was to last
for decades, with Johnnie Roselli. Roselli was as hand-
some as any movie star and indeed was closely as-
sociated with the moguls at the major studios. Roselli
was a gangster and the man to see in Hollywood when
the fix had to be put in during the ferocious jurisdictional
union struggles of the late 1940s and 50's It was during
this time that Bloomingdale, Ronald Reagan and
Johnnie Roselli crossed paths. Roselli was Reagan’s link
to the studio heads, as well as to crime, unions and
Teamsters. In the late 40s and early 50's Bloomingdale,
Roselli, Reagan and Frank Sinatra were to find themsel-
ves thrown together in a combination of union, enter-
tainment and political projects.
During the 1950s Bloomingdale consolidated those
relationships that he was to put to use when the time
came to found the Diners Club. Now the department
store heir was seen in the Bahamas, the Caribbean, in
Havana; a habitue of the casinos, the clubs, the resorts,
the leisure industries that were the fronts for both the
Lansky organized crime operation as well as the Rosel-
li-Sam Giancana wing of the underworld.
Skipping to the 1960s, we find Bloomingdale a prime
mover in the group that was to become known as Ronald
Reagan’s Kitchen Cabinet, also known as the “Friends
of Ronald Reagan.” Bloomingdale was responsible for
the Friends of Ronald Reagan’s concentration of psy-
chologists, pollsters, behavior-modification experts and
psychological warfare types who were to build the
image of Ronald Reagan. Rubbing shoulders with
Bloomingdale in the Kitchen Cabinet were such multi-
millionaires as Walter Knott, Henry Salvatori, and
Patrick Frawley. All of these men had or were to develop
close ties to the ultra-right wing militant American
Security Council.
Bloomingdale became a Reagan spy master sometime
during the first year of the govemor’s power, 1966. It
was Bloomingdale who was involved in a campaign to
smash Cesar Chavez and his Farmworkers Union. This
campaign involved break-ins, burglaries, beatings, and
at least one assassination plot against Chavez. Working
with Bloomingdale in Reagan’s master plan to stifle the
dissent of students and minorities was none other than
Edwin Meese III who would turn up years later on the
famous Vicki Morgan “sex tapes.” During this entire
period Bloomingdale worked closely with organized
crime and Teamster officials. Charles Colson, Richard
Nixon’s hatchet man, and linked to the Teamsters, was
carrying on parallel activities at the national level, while
Bloomingdale was in charge of pacifying California.
Once again Bloomingdale, through Roselli, brought
thugs into smash the Farmworkers Union as Rosefli had
done in the 1940s and early 50’s when Ronald Reagan
first consolidated his power base at the Screen Actors
Guild.
By the mid-1970s, Ronald Reagan had completed two
terms of office in California. Bloomingdale’s friends,
Johnnie Roselli and Sam Giancana, were murdered be-
fore they could testify before Senate Select Committees
looking into the murder of President John F. Kennedy in
Dallas.
Because of Betsy Bloomingdale’s arrest in 1975 when
Betsy doctored invoices for expensive clothes that she
attempted to pass through U.S. Customs, Bloomingdale
was not eligible to become Reagan’s Ambassador to
France, or so the story goes. At any rate, Reagan named
his old spy master to a far more important post: the
Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board. This board over-
sees covert actions, filthy tricks, CIA black operations
of every kind; it is perhaps the single most sensitive
intelligence apparatus in the government. Bloomingdale
also sat on the president’s Advisory Commission on
Public Diplomacy. It was this groups task to help the
president publicly explain, or cover up, that which the
intelligence community was doing illegally and uncon-
stitutionally.
In many ways the life of Alfred Bloomingdale reads
like an intelligence or crime dossier. There is one more
very strange connection, one that even now investigators
are plumbing thoroughly for perhaps the first time.
Alfred Bloomingdale, who comes from very old Jewish
aristocratic stock in New York State, was a member of
a world-wide organization called the Knights of Malta.
Major figures in both the Reagan Administration and the
Bloomingdale-Morgan affair - in short, in the murder
and its coverup - are all associated with the Knights of
Malta. The membership includes Neil Reagan, the presi-
dent’s brother, and William Clark, the president’s Inte-
rior Secretary. Johnnie Roselli and Sam Giancana were
associated with, if not members of, the Knights of Malta.
Membership is also enjoyed by William Casey, Rea-
gan’s head of CIA, and J. Peter Grace, one of Reagan’s
organizers for what has euphemistically been called the
“re-organization of the private sector” along lines dis-
astrous to labor unions and working people.
Bloomingdale was much more than a prominent Cath-
olic layman; he was nothing less than a Papal Knight.
“Alfred was a frequent visitor to the Vatican itself,” with
“tremendous influence,” according to his biographer
and consultant, Sheldon Davis’ work in progress,
Bloomie. The Vatican is at the center of a worldwide
intelligence and diplomatic network and Bloomingdale
was at the very center of that center.
The question naturally arises of how a notoriously
compromised figure like Bloomingdale could be given
such high and sensitive intelligence posts by Ronald
Reagan without compromising national security.
Bloomingdale’s scandalous sex life, the real pathology
of his sadism had been well known to Reagan and
members of his circle for many years. It is almost
incredibly reckless, then, for Reagan to have appointed
Bloomingdale - given his organized crime background
and his sexual vulnerability - to posts on the command-
ing heights of American national security.
In the pursuit of the killer or killers of Vicki Morgan, a
trail winds through the underworld of organized crime
and into the back-alleys of covert action. The real face
of Alfred Bloomingdale has begun to bleed through the
media construct of the dirty old department store mag-
nate.
The Morgan-Bloomingdale affair is an affair of the
flesh but is much more an affair of power and its corrup-
tion.
BILL TURNER is a former FBl Agent (Badge #6627).
turned investigative journalist. He is a former editor of
Ramparts and is the author of numerous magazine
articles. Among his seven published books is The Fish
Is Red, co-authored with Warren Hickle.
DONALD FREED is a prize-winning historian and
playwright. Books and plays include: In quest; Secret
Honor; The Spymaster; Agony in New Haven; The
Glass House Tapes. New works include a book with
Larry Flynt, The Secret Life of Ronald Reagan.
LAKE HEADLEY is a world-class investigator. He
was central to the Wounded Knee and Bill Smith cases.
He broke the Don Bolles murder case for Playboy.
(Reprinted from Rebel Magazine, January 23, 1984 by
permission of LPF, Inc., copyright 1981. All rights
reserved.)
eof
*yawn*, just the normal sexual hijinks and deep political
machinations of extortion and blackmail by the power elite...
*ho hum* happens everyday...
ann jaded archy
eof
Jane Shelton
Annie,
bum-bannie,
tee-annie,
go-fannie,
tee-legged,
tie-legged,
bow-legged
Annie,
or, haven't you figured that out yet!
BILL ("COLOR ME FASCIST") CLINTON
By: Norman Liebmann
Just when Americans breathed relief that Arkansas could not produce
anything downhill from Orval Faubus, they afflicted us with Bill Clinton,
who has brought our nation around a bend in the road that enables Americans
to catch a glimpse of Armageddon. Via the reek of his corruption, America
has begun to draw scavengers. Clinton's deterioration of our freedom,
dishonor of his office, pollution of our ethos, and generalized depravity,
have given tyranny a foothold in the bog he has made of our culture, and
has run down the future until it has become a slum neighborhood in which
our children must live.
Lamentably, we live in a political age when all the world's leaders are
worthless simpering buttercups. One sickens at the prospect of Tony Blair's
candy ass resting on a pew in the House of Commons that once pedestaled the
noble haunches of William Pitt, Benjamin Disraeli and Winston Churchill.
In our country, politics reached its nadir with Bill Clinton, the only
sonofabitch in America you can call a liar, a traitor, or a pervert (or for
that matter a sonofabitch, as I do here) without getting into a fistfight,
because Clinton is also a coward. In a time of danger, or even risk, a
sluice gate opens in his viscera and releases a pond into his pants of
sufficient volume to stock with trout. It will be remembered, rather than
stand with his countrymen in Viet Nam, Clinton spent his time at Oxford
sniffing chairs, hoping to catch an after-fragrance of the limp and
supercilious Sebastian Flyte.
Clinton is the liar's' liar, the traitor's traitor, the pervert's pervert,
and the scumbag's scumbag. In order to look presidential by comparison, he
surrounded himself with bureaucratic ciphers that are all tapioca pudding
and false grit. His Cabinet boasts not one individual of purpose or
character who has the courage to suggest an alternative, let alone oppose
him. Most have little worthwhile experience. They are the "Ain't Been There
- Ain't Done That Gang." (Despite her worthless adventures in the UN, it is
apparent Secretary of State Madeleine Albright's most significant
experience in foreign relations is once having had breakfast in The
International House of Pancakes.)
Bill Clinton, the Arkansas Maggot, wants to be dictator more than many
Americans want to be free. Deluged by the weight and frequency of Clinton's
lies, Americans have gone insensate. The adjustment to this is least
arduous for Clinton's most loyal (read: susceptible) constituency - the
ignorant - who have always met all tests of perception with The Numb
Response. The people they send to the Senate further corroborate that.
The Clintons are already referring to their new home in Chappaqua as the
Winter Palace, and have affixed to their "limo" a bumper sticker that reads
"Get Imperial!" We wonder, but not extensively, how giddy with nausea their
soon-to-be neighbors are becoming, knowing they soon will be living next
door to the Donny and Marie of moral depravity. It is a valid sociological
phenomenon, irrespective of where Americans reside, by having the Clintons
in the White House, we are all haunted with a feeling of living next door
to a family of slobs.
We suspect the distress of the Chappaqua locals will become even more
intense when they have to obfuscate the news their community has been oozed
into by sludge from Arkansas. It has been manifest since 1992 the Clinton
corruption is as contagious as typhus, and that one bite from Hillary will
cause an anopheles mosquito to suffer an agonizing death. It is expected
people of the parish will not only hide their daughters, they will lock up
their DNA in safety deposit boxes.
The Clinton infestation has termite-weakened America's national defense
structure for oily political money, and subverted faith in our system of
government with sneaky and labyrinthine backroom legislative connivance.
Now comes the demolition ball: confiscation, curfew, and extralegal
Arkansas-type Nuremberg laws. Aspiring despots need an Orwellian paradox as
a catalyst for their usurpation of power, especially the particularly
furtive, on the sly, under the table, thief in the night, back alley,
despot-in-waiting like Bill Clinton. Thus, and with straight face, Clinton
will propose himself as the only viable alternative to the corruption he
has created, in a sense the venomous antidote to his own venom.
Bill Clinton has forgotten the destiny of dictators - Hitler's
Götterdämerrung, marinated in gasoline, and luau-ed in the Reich Ministry
Garden, and Benito Mussolini hung by his heels in a gas station in Milan.
Still, Clinton is immune to his corruption the same way the cottonmouth is
invulnerable to its own poison. Of course, the serpent's immunity isn't
reinforced by a cowardly Congress, a complicit press and voracious hordes
of conscienceless minority groups. [Note: Some property of the liberals'
DNA enables them to survive the political toxins with which they destroy
their host. Three months after Bela Abzug died, the coroner had to trap her
hat in a corner of a room and beat it to death with a stick.]
This Arkansas shit-kicker is the most profoundly addicted power junkie
since Attila the Hick. Despite the two term limitation spelled out in the
22nd Amendment, Clinton's innuendoes about illegally succeeding himself in
office are not idle ones. It is widely believed he will assume dictatorial
powers after fomenting a foreign war, or racial strife, or a Y2K panic. Or,
it may be subtler. He has already begun diluting Al Gore's viability by
siphoning off his Vice President's financial and public relations support,
and will, in a counterfeit display of self-sacrifice, offer himself again
to the Democratic convention as the Party's nominee because "Al just can't
cut it." Some have alluded Gore is aware of this possibility because, "He's
not that dumb." Anyone even casually acquainted with Gore's track record
knows he is as dumb as the occasion demands.
The first sign of Bill Clinton's totalitarian inclinations became manifest
during puberty when he saw a film of Adolph Hitler haranguing a Nuremberg
rally, and got an erection. By age 12 Bubba was a common sight on the
street corners of Little Rock, playing Deutchland Uber Alles on his
ocarina. His trifling musical gifts (we've been exposed to his abuse of the
saxophone) led his mother to enroll him at the Arkansas Conservatory of
Hawg Calling, (sometimes called the Julliard of the Ozarks.)
The initial chill coursed through our bodies the night of his presidential
victory, when Clinton announced, irrespective of the Constitution, we were
getting "two for the price of one", and that, henceforth, America would be
under the implacable thumbs of the Ceaucescus of Sunnybrook Farm. Bubba and
Hillary immediately set themselves to making out the guest list for their
coronation. Bill would be Louis the Umpteenth, Hillary, the new Marie
Antoinette, who would be remembered in history for the words, "Let them eat
spin."
We need remind no one Bill Clinton got his political savvy in Arkansas,
where Rumpelstilskin learned to spin straw into graft. As they have for
generations, Arkansas Democrats pressure-pumped Clinton's political pus
through the system. Bubba promised us the most ethical administration in
history. Instead he gave us government by damage control. Bill Clinton
himself is a tireless miscreant. He is the Energizer Bunny with a criminal
mainspring. Unhindered by considerations of conscience, Clinton has wrought
deterioration on our country using the nation's largesse to deodorize his
crooked manipulations. He has gotten away with everything, not by hiding
his crimes, but by embracing them, a faculty for which our solons and media
praise him to the skies. The resurrection of the Waco tragedy is now giving
him a second chance to embrace mass murder, which he has begun by
reaffirming his faith in Janet Reno. (In a serial dissembler like Clinton,
hypocrisy reaches orgasm when he rhapsodizes about Janet Reno, the
Accomplice General.) If history instructs us, the press and the Congress
will have another go at a whitewash, though they may experience a twinge
that Waco is a manifestation of the Clinton evil so total as to yield no
consolations.
There is nothing wrong with the Clinton Administration that a mutiny could
not cure. The seeds of a second America Revolution are planted. Colonial
America's enemy, George the Third, has been replaced by Bubba of Arkansas.
Clinton has declared himself our tin god and our Jack-in-office, who, in
contravention to law (Title 18 US Code, PART I, Chapter 67, § 1385, The
Posse Comitatus Act) ordered the Department of Justice polizei, backed by
Delta Force commandos, to burn Americans in their homes. If, when, or
whether, Clinton determines the need, another such ad hoc brigade will
shoot down Americans in the streets - citizens who, in collusion with a
quisling Congress, Clinton has contrived to disarm. The survivors will be
rounded up and penned in the Astrodome to await Clinton's pleasure.
It is the standard operating procedure of despots to oppress people to the
point of acting rashly, then crushing them for it. Like Hitler, Clinton
will keep "up-ing the ante" of his demands on the American people's freedom
until they have no choice but to resist - and then he will move in with
armed and lunatic force. (We recall, with anguish, the "fuzz" who descended
on Ruby Ridge and bullhorned defiantly, "We hear you people are
survivalists. Let's see what ya' got!" Survivalists these rural folks may
have been. Survive, they did not.)
RENO
The Branch Davidians are "86", but the vital signs of their tragedy are
still active. Karma has provided a pulse, and this theater of cruelty
refuses to close down. The current spin for Reno's ending eighty and more
men, women and children as a cookout, is horse-collared around the
non-conformist neck of David Koresh, for stubbornly refusing to produce
Proof of Insurance without which the fireman would not unwind the hose. A
more reasonable scenario is, while Reno was sitting in her office getting
"sloshed", the Branch Davidians were being gassed and incinerated, and
last-gasping to each other, "Who do you have to know to get on Schindler's
list?"
The "investigation" of Janet Reno's Grand Guignol on the prairie is well
launched, its autopilot heading set on Oblivion. It was inevitable with so
many non-partisan (read: gelded) Republicans to choose from, John Danforth,
like his former colleagues, wants to be understood as "reasonable" (read:
impotent.) After his investigation, we are confident he will have reasoned
the Waco massacre was a Christian cult ploy that boomeranged, and, by the
way, under certain circumstances, water is not necessarily wet.
Democrats will, of course, protest Janet Reno's "shopped around" integrity,
which will trigger yet another scavenger hunt to try to find it. The raw
truth is, she has none. In the vernacular of the Japanese sumurai, her code
of honor is more bullshit than bushido. The poignant question is, if the
lady is not fecal matter, why does she keep turning up in toilet bowls?
Before you ever see an honest investigation by Reno's Justice Department,
you will see a gondola glide by the checkered flag at the finish line of
the Indy 500.
It was apparent early on that Reno had slipped from psychologically
irresponsible to morally defective. She expresses hope the inquiry will be
weighed on its merits. There are no merits here to weigh. Only a
pettifogging ethically-challenged shyster could presume mass murder has
quantifiable justifications. Her perception of that as a viable possibility
is in and of itself an abomination.
Janet Reno, our shake 'n bake Attorney General, keeps repeating the mantra,
"The buck stops with me." It is not the buck, but the bottle that stops
with her. When she gets blotto someone has to pay - and sorely. Not for
nothing does the gang at the DOJ call Reno "The Life of the Massacre."
(Nobody really knows where this creature came from, but every time she
takes a walk in the park, people look to the skies to see if they can spot
the mother ship.) We may be glimpsing the endgame, since Reno now spends
more time looking for a fall guy than for a swizzle stick. (Speaking of
fall guys, does the name Louis Freeh ring a bell?) Reno has too much on
Clinton to get "pink slipped", but Freeh will be finessed out the egress
without a whimper. The word is he was bitten on the neck by Trent Lott, who
has a cowardice-inducing agent in his saliva that could have turned all the
vertebrae in King Kong's spine to squish. As for the lady herself, we will
know Bubba no longer worries about anything she might reveal when we see
her ass being chewed to pieces on her way down through the White House
paper shredder.
ENABLING
Hillary is a Bill Clinton enabler, and that's part of her job. In Trent
Lott's case, he enables Clinton in lieu of the courage to do anything else.
His equally weak-kneed colleagues tell any who will listen that Lott's
aiding and abetting in Clinton's impending coup is being done unwittingly.
An unwitting accomplice is the worst kind of accomplice. In fact, Trent
Lott is the worst kind of anything. By his dereliction, Trent Lott licensed
Clinton and Reno to run amok in Washington and to use the Constitution of
the United States for bung wad.
The shakiness of Reno's principles has now spread to the rest of her body.
(A gynecologist says it is a symptom common to women who "do themselves"
too often using a motorized coat rack.) Still, the wall that shields her,
and the out-of- sight-with-corruption Clinton administration", remains
structurally intact, i.e. the Republicans majority in the Senate. Only the
moral sinew of Bob Smith of New Hampshire makes it possible to determine
the odds of finding a Senator with balls are a hundred to one against.
Spunkless, panic-prone Republicans are no match for religious apostates
like Diane Feinstein, Barbara Boxer and Charles Schumer, who, by consent
conveyed in their silence, are allowing the Clinton Administration to
collaborate with Yasir Arafat in nibbling the State of Israel out of
existence, then are going about disarming their tribesmen so that Clinton
can usher them, docile and resigned, into the Buchenwald gas oven being
recreated as an exhibit in the Clinton Library.
There is no comparable period in history so characterized by a confluence
of aggravated evil and shameless cowardice. Clinton is a synthesis of what
is thinkable as the human capacity for degradation. The Senate is a
moldering vat of indecision and expediency. It is Trent Lott's
responsibility to make sure the vat remains unstirred lest it disturb its
natural fetid stagnation.
LOTT
Trent Lott is the Senate's Judge Ito because of his proclivity to be
intimidated by trashy people. No Senator is more timid, none more derelict
in his oath. Lott tippy-toes around Washington more tentatively than The
Flying Wallendas in a high wind. Lott won't sit on a commode that doesn't
have seatbelts. Trent Lott can't fight, and he doesn't have the tact to
hide. Under his aegis, Senate Republicans have abandoned their
constituents. His leadership recalls one of the most painful and censurable
happenings of World War II when a B-17 took a burst of flak, and the pilot,
(a Captain who was a much celebrated college athlete) bailed out on his
crew.
Lott's poltroonery has reached a point where he envies the average
citizen's powerlessness. Like the witch in the Wizard of Oz, a vote of
conscience could cause Trent Lott to melt into a puddle. Should Lott ever
be asked to leave his testicles to medical science, he could say with
legitimacy. "I already gave at the office."
Only the shameless could choose Lott as their Majority Leader, a political
hack that has convinced his majority it is folly to lead. He has neither
the virtue nor the testosterone to point the way. He astonishes his
colleagues when he exhibits the guts to call for a five-minute potty break.
Finally, in a burst of poll-driven pragmatism, Lott offered the mousy
assertion - "Perhaps Reno should resign." Well, as the folks down in the
holler say, "Perhaps don't feed the bulldog." Lott is fluent in the lingua
of non-officialese, the twaddle that has not the force of law. Lott's
concurrence in any rational opinion is sufficient to make us doubt its
wisdom. Even if he concedes that two and two is four, anyone who agreed
would be compelled to do so with regret. Reno must go and so must Lott.
Reno is as much Lott's creature as she is Clinton's.
SENATE
While it has filtered through to some Americans their fellow citizens are
being shot from ambush and barbecued in their homes, the scent of burning
flesh has not been detected in the Senate as its indigenous effluvium of
self-absorption and pragmatism has overpowered it. One wonders what kind of
insulation do these guys wrap their souls in. It says all that - they don't
get it - because they just don't want it.
One wonders whether the Republican National Committee seeks candidates for
the Senate who are already castrated or who will perform the act on
themselves as a rite of initiation. While Clinton is brazen, the Senate
must grope even for the courage to be whimsical. Every new poll sets them
trembling like aspen leafs. Like frightened first time air passengers, the
Senate Republicans are white-knuckle legislators. The dankness produced by
their fear has coerced the paste to yield its grip on the Senate chamber's
wallpaper. It is difficult to imagine they are so vulnerable to
intimidation by Bill Clinton, a beefy yokel who looks as though if you cut
him he would bleed Hollandaise sauce, or some other milky-curdy stuff,
flecked with greenish impurities.
In the profusion of garden-variety injustices rampant throughout the
Clinton era, the cold sweat of the Republicans in the Senate damned near
caused their Republican colleagues to forfeit control of the House. Had
these same solons been in session in 1775, descendants of George the Third
would be sipping "high tea" and comparing their hereditary symptoms of
porphyria in the old Washington place up in Mount Vernon.
As always, it is not the White House nor the Department of Justice that
will be "on the carpet." We know them for what they are. It is the
Republicans majority in the United States Senate that is in for another
round of heavy condemnation. Because of its cowardly recoil from its
Constitutional obligation in the impeachment trial of Bill Clinton, the
Senate stands indicted, not only by the American people, but by the
American heritage. The Senate itself is impeached - the charge: reckless
endangerment of liberty.
With its agencies in contretemps, the government is in vaporlock, a
condition of bureaucratic impotence congenial for Bill Clinton to make his
Presidency perpetual, which would settle on the land a permafrost of
Clintonian fascism where nothing that nourishes the human spirit can grow.
Politicians are as totalitarian as we allow them to be. If we continue to
tolerate the Clinton epidemic of sin, I don't believe we can, in good
conscience, ask Jesus to endure another crucifixion to get us off the hook.
Published in the September 15, 1999 issue of Ether Zone Online! Copyright
© 1999 Ether Zone Online (http://etherzone.com). Reposting permitted with
this message intact.
art guerrilla
jane jousted-
(much owie-zowie snippage)
...
>Politicians are as totalitarian as we allow them to be. If we continue to
>tolerate the Clinton epidemic of sin, I don't believe we can, in good
>conscience, ask Jesus to endure another crucifixion to get us off the hook.
>
uh, wow...
like i said, cliton and his previous
handful of predecessors 'deserve'
impeachment for thier extra-legal
war actions, etc...
but i'm afraid the turner article -
besides not having very many 4our
letter words (ouchie, my virginal ears)-
was a tad more factually based...
a stream of invective is not in itself
very convincing...
ann virginal archy
eof