By Lex September 17, 2014 @ 11:20 AM
Like most magazines, Vanity Fair editors are hoping to die before their print editions are formally shut down. There’s no gimmick that won’t be tried to keep from being flushed. Vanity Fair hired Monica Lewinsky to pen a series of first-woman essays on topics important to their readers. Lewinsky seemed to run out of ideas after her first article where she laid on a couch seductively and waxed philosophically like she was Catherine Deneuve reflecting on a lifetime of cinematic sexuality. Somebody fed her the topic of the celebrity leaked photos for her next essay because it was topical and didn’t take much thought. Not so surprisingly, Lewinsky used the MS Word Thesaurus to come out against illegal personal intrusions:
It is immaterial that the recently purloined photos revealed under-dressed celebrities. And, yet, being human we often find ourselves torn between our own right to privacy and our dissolute desires as voyeurs and gossips in an image-and trivia-fueled culture. How much we indulge our inquiring minds is an individual choice. But certainly we can agree that stolen private nudes of actresses (or of anyone, really) is crossing the double yellow line.
Technically I think she means a double double yellow line. If I recall my DMV pamphlet, you can make a left turn across a double yellow line in a commercial district unless it’s a Tuesday or Adrian Peterson is your daddy. Lewinsky goes on to associate her own victimhood with that of Jennifer Lawrence and Kate Upton who didn’t have cigars shoved up their twats by chubby letches, but female victimhood is a big tent.
If you’re like me, you don’t take sides in a social argument until Monica Lewinsky has weighed in. That’s not a fat joke unless you want it to be.
By Matt August 01, 2014 @ 6:36 AM
Monica Lewinsky was offended by a reference to herself while watching Orange Is The New Black. She penned an online summary of her experience in which she bestows heroic status on herself for having the courage to write the article. In the Netflix show, one lazily developed archetypical women’s prison character said in reference to trying to frame a male guard:
“Lewinsky that shit… get some splooge on your uniform.”
Lewinsky was apparently aghast, either out of embarrassment for herself or the show’s shitty writing.
“There was a vulgar reference to my last name and DNA. I did what I usually do in these situations where the culture throws me a shard of my former self. After the cringing embarrassment, the whiff of shame, and the sense that I am no longer an agent running my own life, I shuddered, I got up off the sofa, and I turned it off.”
It’s true that of all the cultural icons to choose from in referencing a woman who took down a famous man by preserving his jizz on her dress, why do we always seem to pick on Lewinsky? I guess that must be the shard of her former self she’s talking about. Or maybe the whiff of shame.
Following her inarticulate outrage, Lewinsky digressed into a tenuous body image analogy, which is boring as fuck and does not involve blow jobs, cigars, or being a chubby horny Jewish girl from Brentwood with ambitions so I stopped reading. I can get my latter day feminist diatribes from any one on Jezebel. With Lewinsky, I want to hear about Clinton sex and snapping XL thongs. Shard! Look out.
Photo Credit: Getty Images
By Lex May 06, 2014 @ 1:28 PM
If you’re like me, you’ve been waiting patiently for sixteen years to hear the chubby intern speak. Who could believe the day would arrive when we can finally hear from the doughy minx who blew her boss.
I’ve decided, finally, to stick my head above the parapet so that I can take back my narrative and give a purpose to my past.
Well, that’s the worst beginning to a tawdry office sex story I’ve ever heard. Is this a real castle we’re talking about or the soft-cardboard block kind your parents put in your room and assured you would protect you from Hillary’s nipple lasers? Still, who can deny the star fucker a chance to take back her narrative. Who among us can say we didn’t gobble the cock of the wrong married man in our 20′s? You may cast the first stones.
Sure, my boss took advantage of me, but I will always remain firm on this point: it was a consensual relationship.
Huh? There goes thirty years of hard fought smelly feminism. Way to go, blue dress.
The Clinton administration, the special prosecutor’s minions, the political operatives on both sides of the aisle, and the media were able to brand me. And that brand stuck, in part because it was imbued with power.
It was also imbued with images of a dirty old man ramming his cigar up your sweaty twat. Marilyn Monroe managed to bang the married President without being branded anything other than a hot movie star. I guess there was less imbuing of power back in the early 60′s.
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By Lex June 26, 2013 @ 9:43 AM
The entire Clinton sex scandal could’ve been bypassed if Clinton had just nailed a good looking woman. You cigar bang a then 20-something Angelina Jolie or maybe a Cameron Diaz and outside of a few whack jobs, every dude in the world is thinking, yeah, I know, me too. Hall pass. But he didn’t. He played kinky bedroom games with a chubby intern who was President of her soap opera fan club. That thong-snapping roly-poly was so damn irresistible, her former high school teacher was mounting her too around the same time. That’s fucking romantic. When the sex police came after Clinton, they grabbed up a whole bunch of shit Lewinsky had gifted to her high school teacher and his unwitting wife. Now the wife is selling all the confiscated evidence. Including Monica’s negligee. Which somebody is going to pay tens of thousands of dollars to possess. Probably Clinton himself. Slowly draw on one last whiff of his chubby play buddy. He really should’ve plowed somebody hot.