See Me, Hear Me

(I submitted an essay to the See Me, Hear Me series. It’s an essay comp in which you’re supposed to write 1,000 words on a select photo, then read it aloud in front of actual people. Somehow, mine got picked. The show happened last night at The Magnet Theater in NYC, and since I was a nervous wreck about it, only Alfredo was invited. But other people showed up too. People I didn’t know. People that actually paid money to watch me drunkenly read close to 1,000 words about a photo of Hilary Clinton. Here’s the submission…)


I think it was Seth Rogen’s character in ‘Superbad,’ a naive police officer named Michaels, that said “When I first joined the force, I assumed there was semen on everything, with some sorta semen database that had every bad guy’s semen in it. But there isn’t!”

I’m not normally a cheater, but Hilary Clinton, and to a greater extent, her husband Bill, taught me a very important lesson in the late ’90s: Be careful where you cum. And even if Superbad’s fictional police are right and semen, isn’t in fact, on everything, I always say that it’s better to be safe than sorry.

If all this sounds dramatically left field, allow for this short history lesson from those blog-less ’90s. Bill cheated on Hilary with a girl named Monica. He put cigars in her, accepted BJs from her and left a handy dandy DNA deposit on her one-piece Gap dress, which she didn’t get dry cleaned. Along the way, Bill disavowed any accusations, with Hilary standing by his side. Then one night, he came out and admitted to the tryst after it looked like an impeachment would soon follow. For a few days after that speech, Bill stepped outside the realm of untouchable president and became a cheating husband. The physical evidence hiding in a closet somewhere in D.C. Hilary still standing by his side. Then it all died down and we got on with our lives. But I always remembered the lesson: be careful where you cum. And if you do cum on someone’s clothing, always pay to get it dry-cleaned.

Since then, the very few times I have cheated, I’ve either worn a condom or been too drunk to finish the job. And the only clothing I’ve inadvertently cum on has usually been my own while masturbating. Then George W. Bush happened. And the whole world turned silly real fast. Here was a guy that only had to do one thing to be perceived as a better president than Clinton: don’t cum on anyone’s clothing. To my knowledge, he’s achieved that so far, opting to piss on the world instead of cum, but that’s a whole other essay, book and blog that I’m not ready to tackle right now.

Anyways, as a result of Bush’s global tomfoolery, Hilary Clinton is making a run for president. And because history allows us, I’m going to make a rush division among the candidates: Hilary Clinton is the only presidential candidate I’ve known to publicly be attached to, for lack of a better word, a cum-stain.

Does this make her better than Barack Obama or John McCain, two people who have probably cum quite a bit between themselves? I don’t know, and to be frank, the idea of any presidential candidate masturbating grosses me out. But it does raise a larger question. If candidates are expected to come clean on any drug experimentation, then shouldn’t it be the same for their masturbatory habits? Everyone’s done it, right? Should we just assume that all three masturbate? (An aside: I would much rather have a masturbating president than a non-masturbating president. I just don’t wanna know about it.)

I remember a time when masturbation and cum stains were taboo subjects among myself and my friends. No one admitted to it and no one talked about it. Then one of my friends discovered the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and the proverbial barn door flew off the fiery subject of masturbation dialogue. Suddenly, everyone was doing it. And admitting to it. And waxing political about what to do with the evidence so that our parents didn’t know what we were doing in our bedrooms. I could’ve really used the Lewinsky scandal in those dark days of 1991 when my father demanded to know why there was a sudden boom in toilet paper use throughout the household. But the Clintons were still in Arkansas, possibly still having sex and nowhere near bringing the light of the cum stain into American public discourse. The resulting explanation of, “Dad, I’ve been bringing our toilet paper to school. The stuff they have in the bathrooms there is too rough” seemed to work for the time. But I took the hint and switched from toilet paper to dirty laundry, a practice I’ve kept true to for the past 15 years of my masturbatory life. It’s just better for the environment anyway.

But I digress. This isn’t about me, the environment, Anthony Kiedis or the strain that masturbating might put on a father-son relationship. It’s about Hilary Clinton, and her connection to the most famous cum-stain in the recent history of the U.S. government. It might be a long road to take, but the Lewinsky scandal wasn’t all bad in my opinion. In fact, I think it humanized the Clintons above and beyond Barack’s pot smoking or McCain’s POW tales. It brought blowjobs and cum-stains and all sorts of then-taboo subjects into public discourse, and forced a few uptight, anti-Clinton lawyers to own up to the fact that we’re all sexual beings at the end of the day, no matter how hard we might try to bury it.

Sure, it wasn’t Hilary Clinton’s doing that pushed the subject into the open. But she sure held her own during those unruly times, which deserves respect then and now. For lack of a better term, Hilary Clinton took her husband’s cum-stained infidelity, faced the evidence and transformed it into grace. And if she can do that with a cum-stain, imagine what she might be able to do with the world, which by the way, is not covered in semen… to be friends.

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