Can Two Type-A Personalities Find Common Ground In Compromise?
7:00 P.M., RED HOT & BLUE
Hillary: I arrived 5 minutes early, because Date Lab told me he was a prominent person. I sat at the bar, where I had plenty of time to discuss the presidential primary season with the bartender. Around 8:30, well into my third White Russian, Bill finally showed up. He glad-handed his way through the restaurant and stopped to speak with nearly everyone in the entire restaurant. I was very unhappy.
Bill: Late? I'd been on the phone with Cristina Fernández de Kirchner, the new president of Argentina, who, by the way, is smokin' hot. Makes my knees knock. I didn't have Hillary's cell phone number.
Hillary: I could see right away that Bill wasn't my type. Physically, I mean. I like men who are a lot thinner, less pudgy, and that reddish nose was a real turnoff.
Bill: Ankles. Huge ankles! Plus, every part of her appearance was fake -- the hair, the face, you name it -- everything except the stuff that I'd like to be fake. She certainly wasn't what I was hoping for.
Hillary: We were finally seated at a table. He ordered a huge rack of ribs and wolfed it down in about five minutes. It was repulsive just watching him.
Bill: Mmmmmmmm . . . huge rack . . . of ribs. Yeah, I was hungry. It was pretty late by then. She didn't have the greatest table manners, either. She kept picking at her food with her fork, taking a look at it, and putting it back on the plate.
Hillary: He spent the whole evening talking about himself.
Bill: She spent the whole evening talking about herself.
Hillary: [Was there any] chemistry? Haaaaahahahahahahahahaha!! The only chemistry that happened was when Bill let loose and it started to smell like sulfur around the table. Pretty juvenile, if you ask me. Other people in the restaurant were staring.
Bill: Is that what she said? Sulfur? Look, I'd had Mexican food for lunch. Sorry. There wasn't anything I could do to stop it.
Hillary: This obviously wasn't going anywhere, so around 10, I told him it was time for me to go home.
Bill: She was starting to get irritating with that awful laugh and that brittle feminist humorlessness. So I didn't mind. Besides, there were a couple of chicks at the bar I wanted to discuss my international relief efforts with.
Hillary: As we left the table, he put his hand on my butt. My butt!
Bill: As we left the table, I put my hand lightly on her back to guide her toward the door.
Hillary: I drove my knee into his groin.
Bill: I actually was going to mention that. Really.
Hillary: I'd give the date 1.5 [on a scale of 5].
Bill: 1.5 or 2. Maybe 2, because the chicks at the bar were niiiiiiice!
Update: Bill and Hillary haven't spoke since the date.
Interviews conducted by Pillage Idiot.
November 05, 2007