Ain’t nothing like a dame
The halo of smoke clears momentarily to reveal America’s newest sensitive man: John Boehner.
The man known as Capitol Hill’s Dean Martin, surrounded by his Cap Pack, is having a late-night clambake at Trattoria Alberto.
Boehner’s usual haunt on the Hill, Pete’s Diner, has become nowheresville since immigration protesters have been self-importing there to stalk the speaker.
“Buddy boys,” Boehner says, exhaling a Camel Ultra Light, “we’ve got to do something about our trouble with broads. The way I figure it, it’s the four of us cats against this one city.”
His pallies, Sens. Richard Burr and Saxby Chambliss and congressman Tom Latham, nod in agreement as they attack their steaks.
“I don’t know how Jay Z and Beyoncé can give up meat to go on a vegan cleanse,” marvels Latham, a proud promoter of Iowa beef.
“You know what my idea of a vegan cleanse is?” cracks Boehner. “Staying far away from all the vegans I know.”
The Cap Pack laughs uproariously, but the guys get serious quickly because they know they have trouble. The worst sort of trouble. Dame Trouble.
“Some of these punks and losers in the Tea Party who have joined up with us do not have a clue how to smooth talk dolls,” the speaker says in his sandpapery voice. “We need to wise ’em up. Angry tomatoes are not small potatoes.”
He takes a swig of merlot.
“We lost seats in the House and didn’t win the Senate last time because of these creeps and bums running off at the mouth, and they could hurt us again,” he says. “I know it seemed like endsville for us after the government shutdown, but all this trouble with Obamacare has got us back on top. King of the Hill. A-Number-One. Top of the Heap.
“Heck, things are looking so good, I even filed for re-election this week. And I know the betting in this floating crap game was that I was going to cash out. No such luck, crumbs.
“The only thing better than a nice set of gams and a little hey-hey with a mouse is being Speaker of the House, even if it’s got a few louses.
“All we have to do now is finish off a nickel-and-dime budget deal, pass a farm bill that makes food more scarce for the poor, try to ram some Iran sanctions at the White House and then it’s scramsville for the holidays.
“The only thing standing in the way of a gas of a year next year is how we bamboozle ’em on immigration and devise a scam to make the ladies think we’re not tramps. Nancy with the smilin’ eyes is ready to take us apart for this stuff, and Pelosi’s no plaything. She’s more like a well-mannered shark. We have to appeal to small-town girls, city girls, blue-blooded girls and the twists in the autumn of their years. That’s amore.
“You know, you look around the Congress and there are a lot more females in the Democratic caucus than in the Republican caucus, and some of our members just aren’t as sensitive as they ought to be.
“First, good night to rape talk, legitimate or otherwise. Chicks don’t dig it. And vaginal probes? Too medical. No more scary medical talk, except to smash Obamacare. Forget probes of any kind, except into Benghazi and the IRS. Let’s have less ow-ee ow ow and more wow-ee wow wow.
“I don’t want to see any more conservatives running for office acting like amateur gynecologists, offering bogus biology lessons about how women have special powers to make rape sperm do U-turns. And put a drop cloth on frat-boy yukking it up, like Scott Brown on Elizabeth Warren, saying ‘Thank God’ she kept on her clothes and didn’t pose nude like he did in Cosmo to pay for college.”
In his stentorian Southern accent, Chambliss chimes in: “Gee whiz! The hormone level created by nature sets in place the possibility for these types of things to occur.”
Boehner blows a smoke ring and a gasket.
“Cool it, Saxbio,” he snaps. “That’s just the kind of rigamarole I’m talking about.
“And altar boy Paul Ryan and these 18-karat idiots trying to curb birth control? Birth control makes the world go round, baby. We don’t want to be leading a party that’s against sex. That’s a sure way to go home alone. Sex is popular. We can get away with saying no to a lot of things. No means no. But saying no to sex leads to bombsville.
“The way we run things, we should have been tossed out long ago, since most of the country thinks we’re living in the past. And it’s not a cool, crazy, swingin’ past. It’s a square, uptight, Mother Superior past.
“Speaking of Mother Superior, we’ve got to get the broads back in line before Hillary runs. That’s real woman trouble there.
“Any questions? Good. Let’s do it my way.”
Maureen Dowd is a columnist for The New York Times.