The only instance that I can remember drawing at least five cartoons in a row on the same subject—besides the 2000 election debacle, which was based right here in Palm Beach County—was when L’Affaire Lewinsky broke. It was all anybody could talk about at the time.
There were the Beret, the Rope Line Video, the Gift Tie, the Clandestinely-Taped Confessional, the Blue Cocktail Dress, and the Stain…but that was then. Monicagate has been installed on its plinth in the pantheon of American history. It’s as dead to us now as the Volstead Act.
Those who lived through it learned all the titillating details they cared to at the time, and have better things to do than replay them. Those too young in 1998 to care—or whose mothers covered their ears during the evening news—think of the Big Dog (if they think of him at all) as either a doddering old man with a hoarse voice, or as Mr. Hillary Clinton.
In other words, what could America’s most celebrated pizza delivery girl possibly have to say that’s worth a $12 million advance? Who cares?
We can only hope that sales will be disappointing, and that the publishing industry will take such a bath that it’ll never waste trees or e-book bytes on this kind of dreck again.
There’s nothing more tedious—or more crass—than somebody who tries to extend her fame beyond her allotted fifteen minutes. The etiquette of scandal dictates that you do your thing, make your money off it while you have the chance, then retreat gracefully into the mists of obscurity whence you emerged, never to be heard from again.
Unless, of course, it’s to reappear someday as a contestant on Dancing With The Stars.Copyright © 2015, CT Now