Something Fishy in Little Rock 

     Being a hard hitting tough investigative reporter is not all it's cracked up to be. Sometimes I uncover a story so vile and revolting that I wish it never crossed my desk. Usually though it's just such stories that need to be aired as a public service. 
    One day last summer I was relaxing in my office, flipping thru the mail, enjoying a maduro Arturo Fuentes Chateau Fuentes and my fourth or fifth Old Fitzgerald 100 proof on the rocks, when a timid knock on the office door caught my attention. Thru the peephole I observed an enormously overweight fellow dressed in the fashion of the Hasidim. I welcomed him into my office and bade him to have a seat. To my surprise he accepted my offer of Old Fitzgerald on the rocks and drained the glass promptly. He introduced himself as Slim "Catfish" Jenkins. I challenged him on the veracity of his dress in view of his name and his thirst for whiskey. He assured me the dress was just a disguise. He told me it would soon become clear  just why he felt compelled to employ such drastic tactics. He nervously drew attention to his empty glass which I promptly refilled and told him to fill me in. 
     He claimed to be a private investigator from Little Rock, Arkansas and to have in his possession a videotape and copies of documents that he said put his life in danger. 
    "From whom ?", I inquired. 
     "Friends of Bill.", he replied matter of factly. 
     My curiosity aroused, I asked him if it were possible to summarize the contents. He promised me I'd never believe what he had to say, but asked me to be patient while he presented his story. 
     Slim settled back in his chair and began rambling. It turned out that he had a cousin who worked in the Little Rock funeral home that received Vince Foster's body and that this cousin had seen and heard a few things quite out of the ordinary. Shortly after the owner of the funeral home returned from the airport with the casket 
this cousin claimed to overhear the Little Rock end of a phone call from Hillary Clinton herself. He swears he was in the hallway outside the owner's office when he heard the phone ring and that the owner soon blurted out "Why yes Mrs. Clinton, how may I be of service ?" followed by a long silence.          
     The next thing this cousin remembers is the owner angrily saying "If this is some kind of sick joke please get off the line now before I report you to the authorities." There was another longish pause followed by "Yes, yes, of course we have a fax machine. The number's in the phone book. " which in turn was followed by the receiver being angrily slammed down. On a hunch this cousin drifted over to the coffee room where the fax machine 
resided. He lit a cig and waited. 
    In about 3 minutes the machine started to hum. He saw the cover sheet with the Executive Office seal then the owner came into the room. "It's for me, probably some crank. I'll handle it." The cousin left the room. Later that evening, after the owner had left, this cousin let himself into the owner's office and started rooting around for the fax. He found the two page transmission under the calendar pad on the desk. The one page body of the text was a brief paragraph assuring the owner that Hillary Clinton had in fact called and that at 8 A.M. the next morning two Secret Service agents would drop by to communicate special instructions from the First Lady herself. 
     Slim paused here for me to refill his glass. I topped mine off, lit another Arturo Fuentes, and told him to continue.     He said his cousin got to work early the next morning and personally answered the door at 8:05 A.M. His cousin had enough sense to ask for identification, and showed the two agents into the owner's office. Apparently the discussion was rather heated. He remembers the owner crying out several times "This is preposterous." 
     After the agents left he remembers that the owner was visibly flustered and short tempered. The owner issued instructions that no one was to be allowed in the embalming room until further notice. 
     Again the cousin stayed late after the owner had left. He let himself into the embalming room and went over to the table where Vince Foster's body resided. Nothing about the sheet-covered corpse suggested the horror that was about to unfold. Upon stripping away the sheet the cousin was stunned to find that Vince Foster had an enormous erection. Closer examination revealed that a plastic prothesis had been inserted into a cut made in the side of the organ.  The cousin replaced the sheet and went back to the coffee room to collect his wits. I interrupted Slim here. 
     "I suppose you have a copy of the fax transmission ?" 
     "Oh yeah", he said, "better than that".  
     I tugged at my eyelids wondering how much whiskey I was wasting on this jerk, and motioned him to continue.  
     The cousin was hit about midnight with inspiration. Recently, a video recorder had been set up in the viewing room to accommodate customers that wanted a film record of part or all of the ceremony. Acting on a wild guess that something was quite wrong in this affair, the cousin placed a blank tape in the recorder, and set it to start taping at 4 A.M. He came back to work at 9 the next morning and noticed the tape still in the camera. Before leaving for home that day he filched the tape to watch at home. 
     "And I suppose you have a copy of this same tape ?", I asked  Slim. 
     "You betcha", he said, passing me a tape. 
     I went over to my VCR and took out the well worn copy of "Facial Cumshots, Vol. 7" and popped in Slim's tape. 
    I was totally unprepared for what I saw. At about 4:15 A.M. the owner of the funeral home wheeled in Vince Foster dressed neatly in suit and tie, resting comfortably in his casket. At 5 A.M. sharp Hillary Clinton enters the room with two Secret Service agents. Having read of her secret romance with the recently deceased, I was not surprised that she might want a few moments alone to mourn out of the glare of the national press. She stood  silently by the coffin for a few minutes then asked the two Secret Service agents to stand outside. She locked both doors to the room from the inside and returned to the casket. I could not believe my eyes when she unzipped Vince Foster's trousers and removed the (artificially) erect penis. With great care, she hiked her dress and slip up over her ample hips and climbed into the coffin. She was not wearing any panties, which I understand is pretty common in Arkansas. She positioned herself over the member and guided it into herself with surprising agility. She began a slow up and down grind that was truly charming to watch, even under these  awfully morbid circumstances. Her breathing grew more rapid and a crimson blush soon colored her cheeks. Beads of sweat were now forming on her brow and her movements became more rapid. At 5:21 A.M. according to the timer on the tape, she screamed at the top of her lungs, "Go limp on me NOW you son of a bitch ! "  and then convulsed mightily and fell face down on the poor corpse. She collected her breath, gently kissed Vince Foster's cheek and climbed out of the coffin. After rearranging her skirt she dabbed at her forehead with a handkerchief and quickly brushed her hair back in place. She walked calmly to the door where the two agents were waiting and opened it. One of the agents escorted her out while the second checked the casket. With only a moderate show of disgust, he placed the penis 
back in the trousers and left the room. 
     Slim guffawed heavily, and roared "Don't that beat all to hell ! ". 
     I vomited profusely, one half quart of whiskey and a sushi lunch special decorating my carpet. Is this the truly awful state that our country has sunk to today? Have previous presidential families ever behaved so disgracefully ? Slim "Catfish" Jenkins sure as hell didn't care. We negotiated a price for my use of his material and he left with same. I hope he has enough sense to get rid of the Hasidic disguise before he gets back to Little Rock. 
     Meanwhile, our president and First Lady have some serious explaining to do to this reporter AND the American people. All the same, I wouldn't be too surprised if an overweight Hasidim were found floating in an Arkansas lake, along with an empty briefcase. 

Later,

George Kranz