Queenie Does Washington

My irascible old uncle Robert wrote a post the other day that rang familiar bells in the Queeniebellum; he describes the potential furor over the multitude of skeletons inevitably unearthed from his various closets were he to run for public office. I've often had such thoughts myself; believe it or not, in my real life I do not appear to be such a loon on the surface. Oh, no, no, no - that would never do. One has to dig deep to find the bag-lady within. But, all this is only tangential to the point I was trying to make, which is that, strange as it may sound, I have been encouraged to run for public office several times in the past, by several unrelated gentleman of a decidedly political bent. While I look very attractive on paper, I never considered it seriously, being who and what I am. These gentlemen I reference were sweetly hopeful for my future, being friends of my father's and only cognizant of my official resume, and therefore also completely in the dark with regard to Queenie's, erm, colorful preferences, proclivities, and pleasures.

If I ever ran for office, it would have to be on the "Everything You've Ever Heard About Me Is True" ticket, the "Yep, I Done That, Too" plank. I mean, seriously. If it will change your reality, your attitude, or your latitude, I've smoked it, snorted it, drunk it, dropped it, eaten it, shot it, or put it up my ass (dilaudid suppository, anyone?) If it can be fucked up, I have fucked it up - cars, credit scores, and contractual obligations. Yes, I probably slept with that guy over there, too. Oh, and her. Hey, hon! How y'all been? Yes, I've nailed a politician. Yes, I've nailed a rock star and lived to tell the tale, after several thorough courses of antibiotics. I've never stolen anything, never been arrested for anything, have no police record whatsoever, other than a few traffic violations...but I sure as hell have engaged in some stuff that would get my ass locked up in most of the countries in the free (and unfree) world. Hell, if I was a muslim, they'd have "honor" kilt me years ago. Or stoned me, maybe, and I don't mean stoned in the good way.

Personally? I don't care. I'd just as soon shout it from the housetops: hey, look at me! I'm a highly successful, motivated, and energetic punk rock stoner freak, and I live next door! How you doin'? I don't give a rat's ass...but I know that my mother and father would die of humiliation behind that sort of revelation. My husband wouldn't give a rat's ass, either...but my kids might, someday. I have to remind myself sometimes - earth to Queenie - you is not the only person up on this planet, biatch; somebody else might have a opinion, too....

You know - and God forbid that this come to pass, knock wood - if my parents weren't around to feel the carnage as my private life was laid bare, I might would just try it. Running for office, I mean, on the "I Done It" approach. After all, my existence - since 1998 - has been almost blameless. Moreover, there's a precedent. George Bush had a drinkin' problem, sobered up, and look where that landed him. Teddy Kennedy is an infamous rummy who fucking killed a lady through cowardice, and the people of Massachusetts keep on keepin' on with him. And besides - run for office, tell the truth about all my various and sundry foibles, right up front...nobody could ever say I was out of touch with the American people, now could they? Because, and I really believe this, you know 75% of the American people are, despite all the above, waaaay more "out there" than I've ever been.

No, really. I'm only an anomaly in that I tell the truth.