Wednesday, June 23, 2004
The secret life of Bill Clinton.
Next to my register, someone placed a copy of Bill Clinton's MY LIFE on display. So I read the first sentence of it during some downtime.
Early on the morning of August 19, 1946, I was born under a clear sky after a violent summer storm to a widowed mother in the Julia Chester Hospital in Hope, a town of about six thousand in southwest Arkansas, thirty-three miles east of the Texas border at Texarkana.
And, reading it, I commented to Susan the Head Cashier that it was the worst, longest and most boring opening sentence I'd read in ages.
"It's a DAVID COPPERFIELD sentence, featuring a 'stormy night' mention," I said. "You don't start a bio like that!"
Susan said Clinton probably got his massive advance for the book and didn't care about the quality of his first sentence, which she thought was a run-on until I pointed out that it just had a lot of clauses.
I complained about that first sentence for, like, hours. Jaded Republican customers thought I was funny. (A couple asked me if I would put the book away, which led me to tell Susan we could make money off of it if we bought a copy of it for angry Republican customers to just punch away at.)
I didn't make fun of the book to any customers who were actually buying it.
Joking around with Susan, I started making up excerpts from the book and quoting them aloud. I figured the book would be more fun if it included twists and turns.
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I never let anyone know that it was Gennifer driving the car that ran down that little boy. She was so distraught and drunk that I had to hold her for a full ten minutes while she cried.
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It was the greatest moment of my life.
A change in policy this large was bound to affect the masses, and I loudly voiced my support for the move.
"Super size me!" I shouted to the beaming McDonald's cashier.
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Truth be told, she blew worse than me playing saxophone on ARSENIO.
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"Chelsea, I'm BEGGING YOU!" Monica shouted, mascara running down her plump face. "PUT DOWN THE GUN! HE'S MY FATHER, TOO!!!!"
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Needless to say, I was so not in the mood to work the registers last night.
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