NY Mirror

The cutest moment in that perennial pierogi Eartha Kitt's act at Café Carlyle comes when she tells the audience, "I've found my birth certificate and I'm proud to reveal that on January 17th . . . I want presents!" But if you want presence, the equally long-running Jackie Mason is still the best solo kvetcher since before Mark Setlock was born. Alas, in his Broadway show, Mason continues to dabble in ancient ethnic stereotypes, not seeming to realize that people have become more similar than different. Mason clings to the idea that Puerto Ricans are violent and Jews always go to doctors, and even as mockable clichés, these are as moldy as escargot jokes (which he also does). Still, the devilishly deadpan comic's riotous about what I assumed had been a spent subject, as it were—Clinton's sexuality. Long may he run!

Speaking of Clinton's sexuality—long may he run at the mouth—I recently happened to appear on a talk show with Paula Jones, the subject, naturally, being celebrity plastic surgery. Someone in the audience asked Jones, "Do you pick your nose?" and she seemed mildly outraged, saying, "No, I don't do that. I'm a lady!" When they came back from the commercial, it was explained that the guy actually meant, "Do you choose your nose?" "No, I left it up to my doctor," responded Jones, more calmly.

By the way, now that two-faced Linda Tripp got a facelift, what about her other one, ba-dum-pum? And while we're talking shiny purple faces, the most entendre-laden merch—yes, we're still doing bests—remains the endearingly innuendo-filled Teletubby stuff. I was recently gifted with a Tinky Winky scrubbing device, which consists of the Tinkster wearing what looks like a flowing purple gown (actually the scrub part). The name of this fey trinket? "Bath and shower pouf." You heard me—pouf!

But back to Clinton's sexuality—poof!—how dare Hillary defend marriage as an institution so sacred it shouldn't be extended to gays? Her idea of marriage has her only speaking to the hubby when it comes time to swallow his endless stream of public apologies for whatever trick the dry cleaner just uncovered. And now, are you all a little nauseous? I admit the last half hour was a little wobbly.

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