Here on the Well, in the conference called "zipper.ind," we've been playing a little online parlor game, rewriting the Starr report for fun, in the manner of other, better writers.   Here's my best effort so far (October 3, 1998).  I've also put up one of my earlier efforts, "The Craven," and a more recent effort, "C-Fever," with apologies to John Masefield.

  (with apologies to Ernest L. Thayer and additional apologies to David Justice)

  (c) 1998 Stephanie Vardavas  <>

  The outlook wasn't brilliant for the man from Hope that day:
  He'd just been re-elected, but his foes were not at bay,
  Webb Hubbell was in prison, Jim McDougal was the same,
  And everyone who hated him knew his weakness for the dames.
  How undeserving was he!, They said as talking heads,
  They spun on Sunday mornings while America lay in bed.
  They spun with Sam and Cokie. They spun with Newt and Trent--
  They spun with Larry King and programs even lower-rent.
  The Independent Counsel had searched for dirt for years,
  What he found, or wouldn't find, was the sum of all their fears;
  By '98 that multitude so melancholy sat,
  For there seemed but little chance of Ken Starr getting up to bat.
  But an intern in the White House, to the wonderment of all,
  Had caught the Prez's eye and later gave the man her all,
  Her two-faced friend had taped her, although that part was illegal,
  But excitement overcame the far right's righteous legal eagle.
  She'd given him some ties and books; he'd given LEAVES OF GRASS;
  It seems he hadn't thought her just another piece of ass;
  They'd done it in the study and they'd done it on the phone,
  There were some tapes of messages he'd left for her at home.
  There was ease in Ken Starr's manner as he walked out toward his car;
  He was righteous in his bearing as he chased his guiding star.
  And when, responding to the press, he pursed his lips and said,
  "No comment," his supporters surely felt the Prez was dead.
  The world's eyes were upon him as he dug up all the dirt;
  Amazed that he could do it in a clean and starched white shirt;
  And while each tortured witness feared to make the smallest slip,
  A cold gleam flashed in Ken Starr's eye, a sneer curled Ken Starr's lip.
  The President, now subpoenaed, had to cut a deal to speak,
  And maintained his composure though the operation reeked.
  He tried to claim some private zone, in which he would not answer--
  But Starr's men remained obsessed with his performance as a lancer.
  His enemies were gleeful! there went up a muffled roar,
  Like the ceaseless beating of storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
  "Impeach him first! Ask questions later!" shouted Tom DeLay and cronies;
  And it's likely they'd have done it but they were shown-up as phonies.
  They rushed to play on television the tape of his appearance;
  After almost no debate the Congress voted for this clearance;
  But something unpredictable came out of this exposure:
  The people sat and watched it, and redoubled calls for closure.
  "Fraud!" cried the maddened GOP, but only echo answered "Fraud!"
  The polls all spoke of bitter scorn; the Republicans were awed.
  They saw their chance, their last best hope, to rid themselves of Bill,
  And would not be denied their game - 'twould be a bitter pill.
  The sneer has fled from Ken Starr's lip, his face betrays his hate;
  He makes his charges oh, so forcefully. He remonstrates
  With Congress and the media to attend well to his snow job --
  The bottom line, of course, just that the President got some blowjobs.
  Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
  The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
  And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;
  But there is no joy in Mudville--so far justice has struck out.

 Please do not forward or redistribute without the above copyright notice. Thank you!