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 VOWS, “NOTHING BUT PHARMACEUTICAL DOPE FROM NOW ON.” 
Bennett signals for another bottle of Knoll ©Dilaudid. By Jayson Blair LAS VEGAS, May 3 – William Bennet, the inventor of virtue, told reporters recently that he’s dropped his last million at Caesar’s—or anywhere else. Stung by the controversy raised over his high-stakes gambling, Bennett told a press conference here that he’s “sticking with pure, reagent grade, big pharma dope.” When one reporter asked if Bennett wasn’t just substituting one addiction for another, Bennett laughed it off. “Sure, if I was buying dope on the street, that’d be bad. Bad as Bill Clinton. But with pharmaceutical dope, I know what I’m getting, there’s no impurities, and my family is protected. In fact, I’ll be using a new set of works each time I shoot up.” Asked what kind of dope he’d be doing, Bennett said that it was his own money, his own private business and his own time. But when pressed, he said he favored Knoll’s ©Dilaudid, and, “of course, Purdue’s best, ©OxyContin.” He said he still misses genuine Rorer ©Quaaludes, though, and blames the company for caving in to “political correctness” when they stopped making the tasty drug.
U.S. OFFERS IRAQI WOUNDED
TOP-OF-THE-LINE 
Replacement Heads Meet Exacting Standards By Homer Formby Jr. WASHINGTON, May 7 – Defense Department spokeswoman Sheila Gerdstone announced today that the United States was offering replacements to anyone who had their heads blown off in the recent bombing of Iraq. “We’re serious about wanting to put things right,” she said, “and we’re offering these heads to anyone who lost theirs due specifically to American or British ordnance.” Prosthetic surgeon Colonel Jason Markkuson said that a U.S. surgical team in Baghdad would be able to attach the new heads in “a matter of hours, not days.” It was done with a local anaesthetic, and, he said, “most people are out walking, playing ball, maybe even thinking in a day or two.” But, cautioned Gerdstone, the U.S. was establishing strict guidelines. “We’re not taking just any headless corpse that comes through the door,” she said. “You need documentation and a referral from your primary care physician.” She said there would also be a “nominal” co-payment for the procedure, but for those who couldn’t afford it, “faith-based organizations are willing to pitch in.” |
  By Gabriela Bocagrande Now boarding, my darlings, Swiss Air overnight to Zurich, the bankers’ paradise: numbered accounts, financial impunity, Holocaust loot and great spring skiing. My seat mate this evening in Platinum Grade, Wide Bottom First Class: Queen Noor! Her most unfortunate Majesty has been forced to fly commercial ever since Royal Jordanian Air went belly-up for lack of bullion. The Queen’s bodyguards were tiresome, I must say. The two of them set off the security alarms countless times with their various stainless steel body parts. One of them refused to remove his head dress and insisted that it wasn’t loaded. Her Highest Magnificence wasn’t much help. She told ground officials she could not vouch for Metallic Man – she had picked him up in the duty-free with a carton of Marlboro Lights. “Bodyguards are great,” she said. “You’re sure you’ll never have to die alone.” Somewhere mid-Atlantic we were having a delightful tête-à-tête, trying to remember the middle names of our respective husbands (this is a tough one – if you don’t think so, just try it) when Her Noorness absently mentioned that she was en route to rehab at the Betty Farouk Center, where the Fahds and Sauds go for the semi-annual spin dry. Her Noorness was wearing a tippy tiara and hitting the champers pretty hard. “Hey, where are my hot nuts?” she yelled at the flight attendant, who explained that royalty is often very demanding. Yes indeed. Her Noorness had trouble with the individualized Airbus entertainment features and video programming built into her seat, which are hard enough to manage when you’re stone-cold straight, believe me, and impossible when you’re out of your mind on uppers and complementary cognac. Most of the flight, Her Majesty was scribbling a rather short commencement address on women’s rights and Islam that she hoped to give somewhere – “for graduating young ladies.” But she could not recall which specific institution of higher learning had requested her presence and wisdom. The Queen was also concerned that she might not be released from Betty Farouk in time for the ceremonies and couldn’t remember if there were furloughs available for the better-behaved clients who had successfully detoxed and could handle large doses of lithium without monitoring. “I can’t help you on that one, Your Most Royal Noorency,” I told her. Inexplicably she launched into a long riff on the outrages associated with the Poles getting a big hunk of Iraq. “How the hell do you explain that?” she screamed at an airborne servant. This is a direct quote. Swiss immigration was also a problem. Her Noorness attempted to access the special chute for diplomatic and eminent persons, of which she was one, but her papers appeared to be in some disarray and her handlers were being strip searched and could not assist. It was a terrible scene, but she was finally subdued by Interpol sharpshooters with a tranquilizer dart to the lower quadrant of the right butt cheek. They told me the last time they had to do that was when Lawrence Eagleburger went berserk coming through for an OPEC gala. It took three shots just to bring him down, they said. Complete madness, my darlings, so behave yourselves at borders and in customs. You do not, not, not want to be trundled away in four-point restraints like HRH. Ciao now, GB somewhere in the Alps
© The Washington Pox 2003 |