Cynics’ Party Special Correspondent Bill Clinton sat down for an exclusive interview with soon-to-be-indicted NY Governor Eliot Spitzer to talk about his life, his loves and the hundreds of hookers he boffed before he was bagged by the feds and finally fingered this month. Spitzer was giving the good news to so many hookers that his payment transfers triggered some kind of Suspicious Activity Reports. The feds thought the account activity was related to some kind of inside-politics bribe. Correspondent Clinton sat with Gov. Spitzer at his private library in Albany while Spitzer iced down his nuts, swollen and painful after his wife Silda Wall Spitzer kicked him halfway into a coma when the news broke.

BC: Boxers or briefs?

ES: You trying to be funny, asshole? I still have the affidavits from the girls’ softball team you tossed a fruitbasket to, you sick fuck.

BC: Not so sick I have to pay for it, Eliot. And I can explain that. I was in love.

ES: With 15 teenage girls at the same time?

BC: Yes.

ES: You just saw them get off of a bus.

BC: Love at first sight. You know: kismet.

ES: And to express your love you expose yourself, shout and wave your tongue ?

BC: I think I am known for my precision of expression.

ES: No wonder your wife eats so much pussy. You’re an insanely abusive womanizer.

BC: I bet you go commando.

ES: Wet suit leggings, actually. Makes me feel, I dunno, kinda, you know. aroused. Yeah. I get all swampy. Then I tear ‘em off and I’m hard and sweaty and crazy and. . . Sometimes I like to pee myself in them, too. It’s great! Silda has a pair but she never wears them.

BC: Wonder why. Hey, yeah, Eliot. Kinky. You’re a freak!

ES: Yeah, I guess. At least I know what to do with a cigar and what to do with my dick, you fucking psycho.

BC: Thanks, dude. <lifts leg; farts> There’s a kiss for you, too.

ES: You really are a smarmy fuck, you know that? How’d you get this job?

BC: Megan the editor punched me in the face when I tried to play radio with her boobs: Admiral Byrd is that you? Can you hear me, Admiral? I was at a bar in Adams Morgan when she walked by.

ES: Love at first site, no doubt.

BC: My heart is real, Eliot. My soul seeks communion.

ES: Oh, fuck, please. Please. Stop.

BC: So, how did it start? Internet blowjobs? Internette blowjobs? A gateway drug for a lot of us, Eliot.

ES: No. Not at all. Started out getting handjobs from winos and homeless guys.

BC: Twisted. What’s it like?

ES: Kinda rough. You have to learn to spit in their hands before they start. When I was a paperboy. We all, you know, the paper boys on my block, we’d give the winos a newspaper in trade for a handjob; blowjobs on Sunday for papers with color funnies.

BC: You sick fuck.

ES: I got used to, you know, paying for sex. I had the money - have the money. Why else did my parents work and succeed if not for me to experience the joys of orgasm with strange and exotic women.

BC: Good point. That’s what America is all about! Yee-hah!

ES: Isn’t it, though? Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee!

BC: Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw!

ES: Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee!

BC: Oh, boy. Good times, Eliot. Good times. So. When’s the first time you paid for it, you know, with something besides newspapers?

ES: When I was in college. We’d drive from Princeton and cruise the industrial yards in Elizabeth, New Jersey and pick up heroin addicts, battered women looking to score a few bucks for the next blast of smack. Beer and blow job weekends with the fraternity brothers. We were way too fucking goofy to have real girlfriends and lovers.

BC: Yeah, which reminds me. Your ears. Can you swim with them? You know flap ‘em and stuff and propel yourself through water.

ES: More for navigation. I never was into sports but I was captain of the Princeton water polo team. I could sprint and intercept like no one’s business because my hands were free all the time.

BC: Wow.

ES: It’s one of those things. They are also hyper-sensitive and easily orgasmic. If I stand in a high wind, I mean, I mess my panties.

BC: I wish I could do that.

ES: But, hey, man, that’s way wiggy shit. Let’s keep that off the interview transcript.

BC: Sure, man. It’s off the record.

ES: Thanks.

BC: So when did your taste in hookers change? The pros you got bagged boffin’ weren’t toothless bag ladies from Elizabeth.

ES: When Silda was 6 months pregant with the first kid. Dad sent by a station wagon filled with hookers. A ’sex-pack’. I couldn’t make up my mind so we did a 7-way in the stable man’s apartment over the estate garage.

BC: A 7-way?

ES: Yeah. I was the train that kept on coming!

BC: You old dog. I bet you thought you could get away with this because you’re the governor, dintcha?

ES: Well, frankly, I knew I’d get caught. I knew.

BC: Really?

ES: Yes, I am an incredible lover. Probably the world’s greatest. I mean mind-blowingly, soul-alteringly great. Someone would want to tell the world about it. I just knew.

BC: Hey, I know what you mean. Been there, man. Been there.

ES: Group sex with a half dozen hookers at a time?

BC: No, just being incredible. Well, yeah, menage a trois every so often with some internettes. You know. Gave Hillary a kick. She liked watching.

ES: Hillary, she’s OK. Her own lady.

BC: Waddaya mean? How would you know?

ES: I know.

BC: Know?

ES: Know.

BC: When?

ES: Last August. In the Crown Vic escort car behind the Compare Supermarket.

BC: Oh, that was what you did after the ‘press conference’ on kids heath? I was wondering about that sudden interest.

ES: Actually before.

BC: OK. Oh, yeah, the market on Quail Street?

ES: Yeah. It’s great.

BC: I know. Gave an undergrad the good news there during a campaign swing in 1991. Sweet thing. Could recite parts of Ironweed by heart.

ES: You’re a fucking artist. Did you give her a copy of Leaves of Grass, too? Oh, my fucking head. . .

BC: Too bad she started crying and going on and on and shit. My guys had to pop her.

ES: Really?

BC: Hudson was close enough to toss the refuse.

ES: Shit happens.

BC: Politics.

ES: I should know.

BC: So, the Emperor’s harem. Tangy poon tangy?

ES: The fucking best. Worth taking them to the Mayflower for the luxury but it’s no place for plain old civilized sex, even in groups.

BC: I didn’t like the crowd that cruised there.

ES: Bill, Bill. You shouldn’t be intimidated by money. But I know what you mean. It’s a little wacky. Freaked out the country girls from the service.

BC: Huh.

ES: Too much weird shit with all the Washington types. One time, last February. You read about it. I was in one suite with the girls and Laura Bush was in the next suite. She was taking on The President’s Own, you know, the Marines marching band. George was having, ah, ‘TV night’ with Victor Ashe at the White House. That’s when Victor comes in from Poland with a special Keilbasa for the Boy Fuhrer.

BC: So I’ve heard.

ES: Every time one of the guys got his rocks off with Laura, they’d play ‘Victory at Sea’.

BC: Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw!

ES: Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee! Hee!

BC: I love that fucking town.