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LAUGH LINES : Seeking a Kernel of Truth in Oily Situations

So, popcorn makes you fat as a house. Wow. Maybe that’s why they call it a “medium-sized tub.”

According to a survey by the Center for Science in the Public Interest: You go to a theater, and you’ve got your eye on a bag of Milk Duds about the size of a collie, but you spurn the candy and buy popcorn instead, thinking you’re on high moral ground. Except it turns out the stuff is popped in coconut oil, which is so full of grease that eating it is like lying under your car, loosening the crankcase nut and opening your mouth.

Speaking of extremely oily things, I cannot help but wonder whether the President of the United States might need a little work on his romantic technique.

(Urgent fairness alert: The editors of this column wish to make it clear that the sexual harassment lawsuit filed against the President is merely an unproven allegation, and it would be wrong to draw from it any conclusions whatsoever about his guilt, or his character, or his personality, or whether or not he has all the savoir-faire of a hippopotamus. Thank you.)

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Anyway, if we are to believe the allegations of this accuser (a woman who looks like the neighborhood girl even Tonya Harding’s mother warned her to stay away from), then we must believe that Clinton had an intermediary tell her that she “made his knees knock,” passed her a note with his hotel room number and then, by way of introduction, removed his pants.

God, that’s smooth.

What about dinner? What about conversation? “You make my knees knock” isn’t conversation--it’s a Little Richard lyric.

What about poetry? Writing a hotel room number on a piece of paper and sending it over with a state trooper is not exactly, “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?

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It is the East and Juliet is the sun.” It just wouldn’t have been the same if Romeo had said, “Babe! Room 1732.”

But simply dropping your pants? Who’d he call for advice on that one, Teddy Kennedy?

If it’s true, that would make Clarence (Coke Can) Thomas look like David Niven.

I want to sign up for the Arkansas School of Smooth Seduction, where you too can learn how to score big with babes who get their hair curled with a Fry-Baby.

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Let’s take the most common dating situation: You’re in a bar. You spot a woman with enough lipstick to paint a barn.

Step 1. You say you’re the governor of Arkansas.

Step 2. You compliment her on how good she looks in artificial light.

Step 3. You take your pants off.

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Or, say you’re at the billboard convention, and you see a woman who makes your knees knock.

Step 1. You say you’re the governor of Arkansas.

Step 2. You ask, “What’s your sign? Get it . . . What’s your sign?”

Step. 3. You take your pants off.

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Or, toughest conquest of all, you meet a woman at the law library and fall head over heels in lust with her. You know she’s classy, and you want this to be perfect.

Step 1. You painstakingly research her schedule and find out she’s an honors graduate from Vassar who leads a study group in Interpreting the Uniform Commercial Code.

Step 2. You quit your job at Blockbuster Video, take and pass the law boards, buy a custom-tailored Brooks Brothers suit, enroll in her class, join the study group and wangle your way into the seat next to hers by telling her you are the son of Antonin Scalia.

Step 3. You take your pants off.

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Somehow, this subject of clumsy seduction brings to mind that scene in the movie “Diner” when Boogie Sheftel, played by Mickey Rourke, comes on to a girl in a rather crude though straightforward fashion in a darkened movie theater. Remember? It involved the strategic utilization of a box of popcorn.

Didn’t think I’d find a way back, did you?


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