Exclusive: The Wedgie Patrol in the Oval Office

Just when you thought there were no secret Lewinsky tapes left to play, here’s an exclusive. Thanks to two bored and underpaid interns at ABC--who spend most of their time playing computer golf and stealing office supplies--The Times was able to get its hands on this tell-all trial interview of Monica Lewinsky by Barbara Walters.

Barbara: OK. Monica Lewinsky, right now you’re the most notorious woman on the planet. The international press has vilified you as a vixen and a bimbo. Your weight, your meals at the Bombay Club and the most sordid details about your affair with President Clinton have been smeared across the headlines. And if the “cigar episode” wasn’t embarrassing enough, your high school yearbook picture was beamed around the world. Still, you’ve remained silent. Some say you’ve been as loyal and long-suffering as Madame Butterfly. And now, finally, you’re talking. To me. Barbara Walters. And so, Monica, tell me. The entire world wants to know: If you were a houseplant, what kind would you be?

Monica: Um, a green one?

B: Second question. Monica, the world wants to know: If you were a puppy, would you want to be named “Nibbles” or “Kibbles”? Oh. Wait. That question is for Michael J. Fox. Here’s yours. Monica, who are your role models?

M: Well, like, let’s see. Vanessa Williams. Donna Rice. G. Gordon Liddy. Pee Wee . . . Hey, you’re not wearing a wire, are you?

B: No. That’s my microphone.

M: Oh.

B: OK. Let’s cut to the chase. Monica, when you first met President Clinton, you lifted up the back of your jacket, showed him your thong underwear and seduced him. Why?

M: Because, like, duh: He was the president.

B: I see. But Monica, by all accounts, you didn’t treat him like the president. You acted like a lovesick 14-year-old, then badgered him like a fishwife. Did it ever occur to you that you were not only dealing with a married man, but with the leader of the Free World?

M: Well, actually, I think he liked the fact that to me, he was a regular guy. I mean, I treated him just like any other married man I’d happen to be stalking.

B: He said you made him feel young.

M: Totally! Sometimes in the hall, when no one was looking, he’d grab my thong underwear and yell “Wedgie Patrol!” He was always, you know, trying to shoot M&M;’s down my blouse with a straw. Once, he tore up half of the D.C. appropriations bill making spit balls. His favorite thing, though, was to take two straws and stick them up his nose. “Look!” he’d say. “I am Count Alucard.” Which is Count Dracula spelled backward, if anybody cares. I mean, he was a Rhodes Scholar, you know, so he was always coming up with word stuff like that. Either that or he’d pull his shirt collar up over his head and walk around the Oval Office going, “I am Cornholio . . .” I mean, he sounded just like Beavis.

B: I see. So you played games with the president?

M: Well, sure. I mean, OK, sometimes he’d just want to do something boring, like Monopoly. That was, like, a total drag, like, because he was such a control freak about buying all those railroads. I mean, OK, so you own the B&O;? It’s not like Park Place or anything. Like, you only get $25 when someone lands on it, so chill out. Whatever. Or Boggle. Ugh. He’d be like, “Time is up! I’ve got ‘catamaran’ and ‘boysenberry’ and ‘coriander,”’ and meanwhile, I’d just be like, “Well, I found ‘it’ and ‘nut’.” I mean, excuse me, but who’s taking advantage of who here?

B: Actually, Monica, I meant, did you play any sex games?

M: Oh. Sex games. Sure. We’d play “Canadian Mountie and the Lost Milk Maid.” Or “Escaped Convict and the Warden’s Wife.” Sometimes we’d play “The President and the Intern.” Except that I was the president and he was the intern. I mean thank God Ken Starr never asked who was wearing that blue dress.

B: Speaking of wives and dresses, Monica, what about Hillary?

M: Wow, like, I’m the best thing that ever happened to Hillary. Before I came along, her personal approval ratings were lower than her husband’s boxer shorts. She should thank me. I’ve done more for her image than “Hair by Pierre.”

B: I see. Well. Before we sign off: The president--is he, you know, good?

M: Barbara, I’m not that kind of girl, you know. I don’t kiss and tell. For that, you’ll have to buy my book.