Durst: The Governor and The Maid
SQUAW VALLEY, CALIFORNIA, WHERE THEY'RE STILL SKIING THE WEEKEND BEFORE THE FOURTH OF JULY. AFTER SEVEN YEARS OF DROUGHT. AIN'T LIFE ODD--It seems a bit suspicious that Pete Wilson can't talk; perhaps he's all choked up from guilt for having lit the match that set off the firestorm of racism directed against illegal aliens. Or maybe the laryngitis is purely psychosomatic so he doesn't have to answer questions about the illegal alien he, Mr. Prop. 187, hired as a maid. Oh, I forgot; he didn't know he had a maid. Let me repeat that. He Didn't Know He Had a Maid. Who does, really. Naw, he probably thought the Tijuana road show of Kiss Me Kate was holding rehearsals in his pantry. Or perhaps he was under the impression his laundry room was being used as a launch for a Colombian drug sting. Are we supposed to even consider electing someone as President who fails to notice strange women speaking foreign languages vacuuming their walk-in closet? This is the guy, who as Senator, wrote the day laborer legislation that allowed illegals to cross the border to work the fields owned by Wilson's rich buddies. Of course, they were supposed to go home at night. Yeah, right. Who wouldn't crash on a buddy's floor to avert an international commute? I always hesitate asking the question, "Just how dumb do these guys think we are", because of the answers we seem to give them in months named November. Will Durst is making big time money doing a corporate date at the Resort at Squaw Valley. "Just don't be too liberal, and no gay jokes, okay?"