The waiter said, “‘I’m from the suburbs.'” [Rush repeating:] “I’m from the suburbs, and I’m voting for Bush.” “All of the eyes” at the serious Manhattan dinner party “turned to him. ‘Now, it might seem odd,'” this is the waiter speaking. “‘It might seem odd that a savvy New Yorker like me is voting for a guy in a cowboy hat,’ he went on, as he recklessly doled out ice cream to a network anchor, ‘but what we want is stability. This Kerry guy — he’s all over the place.'” You know something, I’m surprised this waiter got out of there. You talk about, “Did he get a tip?’ I’m surprised he still has a job! Waiters aren’t supposed to do this. Did you see the movie Gosford Park? Remember the Lord of the Manor having an affair with one of the (staff), and she speaks up and betrays the affair while dinner is being served and the wife of the manor, the lord, finally finds out that his husband is having an affair with one of the staff?
They’re going to solve all the problems. That’s what they do as these Manhattan dinner problems, by the way: solve all the problems. That’s what a serious Manhattan dinner party is, and I’m sure they were talking about gun control. They were talking about abortion they were talking about all the old playbook issues, and they’re probably just aghast at what’s happening to this country which they can’t possibly believe and then she starts in on the Republican attack machine and I’ll share with you what she says about that after this.
When we last left you, we were at a dinner party, “a serious Manhattan dinner party,” of Tina Brown’s, hosted by Tina Brown in which — I’m assuming hosted by Tina Brown; she may have been just a guest — at which dinner party a
“The Republican attack machine — again — has made the right calculation: Hit ’em with trivia. Bait the hook with the absurd ‘issue’ of whether it was medals or ribbons that Kerry hurled over the wall when he was a 27-year-old hothead. Then watch the media bite — they’ll do it every time — and let Kerry rise to it and blow it.” This is part of the Republican attack machine. “Presto, a thrice-wounded, decorated war hero running against a president who went missing from the National Guard is suddenly muddying up his own record on the morning talk shows. Shades of 2000, when Bush jokily bowled oranges down the aisle of his campaign plane while Gore argued about whether he did or didn’t say he invented the Internet. The blueprint for what’s happening now is all up there on the screen…”
She goes on and on to talk about how she can’t believe this is happening. They can’t believe Kerry is blowing it. They can’t believe that one of their waiters would rise up from
EIB strikes again, ladies and gentlemen! I will guarantee you this story would not be a story, this wouldn’t be out there, if we here at EIB had not been cluing you in to it and talking about it for three weeks. Longer than that. I told you while Kerry was still winning primaries, “This is going to happen. This is going to come back and bite ’em. They’re nominating him for the wrong reason. Look at the exit polls. The Democrat vote turnout is very low. Wait till they figure out who this guy is. They’re not going to like what they’ve done, you wait.” In the meantime, you were panicked over Bush. You were panicked over Iraq. You were panicked over the media, and I said, “Stay the course,” and look at the reversal that has taken place. You know, this column [cough]I need to tell you. Some of you have heard this but I a brief pause here to share with you my “familiarity,” shall we say, with the role of the peasant waiter here at a Manhattan dinner party.
Way, way back — not long after I had first arrived in New York, maybe four years — I was invited to a serious Manhattan Christmas party that was also a dinner party, and this party was co-hosted by two very, very famous women and both of them are quite close to Tina Brown although Tina Brown was not there. And I was one of two conservatives at this party, and it took me probably — I was really na?ve and dumb then — but it took me about a half hour to figure out that the other conservative and I were there as circus acts. We were there to entertain the other attendees at this particular serious Manhattan Christmas dinner party because they just couldn’t believe people like us existed so they were peppering us with all sorts of questions and they acted so amused.
It was like we were the animals on the other side of the cage that could talk. At the end of the party — or the end of dinner — everyone repaired to the study where there was a pi-
“I don’t know any more. You guys have (done them all). That’s it. There aren’t any left that are worth singing.” “Oh, come on, come on!” They kept urging me and egging me on. I said, “Well, okay. Although it’s not really a Christmas song, but I can make it sound like one, and they kind of cocked their heads and looked and said, “Okay.” So I did my best Placido Domingo impersonation singing I Ain’t Got No Home. It went something like this. (Laughing.) [Singing:] “Aiiiin’t Goooot No Hoooome,” and I went through Ain’t Got No Hoo-oo-ome and so forth, and when I finished the first verse, the party ended. The guests, thankfully, looked at their hostesses, said, “It was a great party,” and they split. I have yet to be invited back (laughing.) to any of (these parties).
So my conservative buddy said it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen, glad I did it, said, “You ought to keep doing stuff like this if you get invited back.” I said, “I don’t think there’s any problem in me getting invited back. I really don’t. Do you see how everybody scrammed here? Bam!” You should have seen it, folks. I mean, everybody went for the coatroom. And it’s true, I haven’t been invited back. The only thing that amazes me is it was not written about. I guess there was some off-limits rule because of a serious Manhattan dinner party, but I’m the only one around who tells the story. The two hostesses know who they are and they know that it happened, and neither have said anything about it. Nor has anyone else who was there (Laughing.) ever said anything about it. But I only say this, I only repeat the story, that I can understand the reaction this poor peasant waiter got when he dared pipe up while serving the lemon sauce to the coconut cake during dessert to tell ’em he was for Bush and that he knows Bush is a “cowboy,” totally upsetting the
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