The Zany Adventures of Those Wacky Kids, Bill and Hillary

Hillary calls Bill into her office one day and says, "Bill, I have a great idea. I know how we can win back middle America and secure my god-given right to be elected president in 2008."

"Well that's just great, hon. But how do urban sophisticates like us get away with taking in a bunch of stupid niggers, smelly taco-benders and honky shitheels out there in the middle of nowhere?"

"That's why I'm talking to you, Bill. You got away with it for thirty years."

"Well, you know what I always say, hon. If you can fake sincerity, you got it made!"

"That's right! So what we'll do is head out to one of those unbelievably downscale WalMarts and buy some of those really cheesy clothes and shoes like tax-paying losers out there wear. And then we'll stop at the pound and pick up a Labrador and we'll name him Ralph and throw him away afterwards like we did Socks. Then, when we look like total idiots we'll go to a broken down country bar in middle America and convince the rubes that we actually enjoy the countryside and show admiration and respect for the hard working jerk-offs living there. Now that's what I call a game plan, the fucking media are gonna eat it up--am I going to make a great President or what."

A few days later, all decked out and with the doomed Ralph in the back of the Range Rover, they set off from their country estate in upstate New York in a westerly direction.

Eventually they arrive at just the place they're looking for: Twin Oaks, TN.

With Ralph in tow they walk into the quintessentially rustic watering hole where they step up to the bar.

The bartender does a double-take and says, "Well kiss my patootie! It's Bill and Hillary Clinton!"

Hillary answers, "Yes, it's us and what a lovely town you have here. We were just passing through when Bill suggested we stop and take in some local color."

They then order two mojitos from the bartender and proceed to drink them in a totally contrived manner, all the while chatting up any local who will listen and participate in the photo op, now that the photographers have caught up and are turning the once-sheltering saloon into kindling.

All of a sudden, the bar room door opens and a grizzled old farmer stomps through the media circus and into the barroom. He walks up to Ralph the Labrador, lifts his tail and stares for a good ten seconds at the space thereunder. Then he shrugs his shoulders and walks out the door.

A few minutes later, in walks another old agrarian. He walks up to Ralph, lifts his tail and again spends several moments examining the critical zone. He scratches his head, then leaves the bar.

Over the course of the next hour or so, another four or five bucolics come into the bar and repeat the entire sequence, taking great care to examine the special canine location, then walking out of the saloon with puzzled expressions on their faces.

With the media covering all this with the usual zeal, Hillary and Bill can stand it no longer and call the bartender over.

"Tell me", says Hillary, "Why are all those old farmers coming in to look under the dog's tail like that? Is it some sort of local custom? The media are getting on this like flies on shit, just what we were hoping for, and we'd like to know if you'll agree to be interviewed on camera."

"No problem," says the bartender.

Whereby one of the more terminally perky correspondents on the scene gets set up with the lights and dutifully repeats Hillary's question to the bartender: "Why are all the old farmers coming in to look under Ralph's tail? Is it another charming local custom that those zany Clintons have discovered?"

"Oh no," replies the bartender on camera. "It's just that I sent all the local farmers an e-mail and told 'em to get down here as soon as possible, there was a Labrador Retriever in here with two assholes."