Laura Blumenfeld's Vagina, or, Why I Love Bill Frist

Laura Blameful is the proprietor of the WaPo’s Off Camera column, featuring "Washington's top decision makers in their off hours -- outside the office and inside their lives."

This week, she takes on Senate Majority Leader Frist’s secret life as a gorilla surgeon. All obvious jokes aside, the article reads like a bodice-ripping tome reserved for the loneliest of overweight housewives with 72 multi-colored Support the Troops magnets on their 2003 Hummers. Some of my favorite tasty bits:

In medical school, Frist cut out a dog's heart and held it in his palm. It continued to beat for a slippery minute.

Is a slippery minute longer or shorter than a New York one?

"I gravitate towards insurmountable problems," Frist said, his long legs spilling between the front seats. "I try to use creative solutions." One day, he hopes to cure AIDS or cancer. He sucked on the stem of his glasses: "The typical person around here may not understand."

Spilling between the front seats?! I’ll say… I like that his dream of curing cancer was followed by a sentence that included the word “stem” in it, as in stem cells, as in let’s trash them instead of using them for good because presentient cells mean SO much to him. Also, he wont be able to find a cure for AIDS until he accepts the fact that a person CANNOT contract the virus from tears.

Frist joined the team, as he had on other mornings, tying on a mask. He unbuttoned his business shirt, revealing jungle-pattern surgical scrubs and a pair of hairy, toned biceps.

That’s hot….seriously. Hott. Two Ts.

He pressed his stethoscope to the gorilla's chest and narrowed his eyes. Kuja, a silverback patriarch, was breathing isofluorine. He was the Senate majority leader of the gorillas, who negotiated disputes, back-slapped the ape boys and owned exclusive mating rights with the females. When Kuja started to stir, a veterinarian injected more anesthesia. One backhanded swipe could break Frist's neck.

No comment.

The stink of ape sweat and gorilla testosterone soaked his hair and clothes. "Gorillas, people, men. You look at the people here, a symphonic flow of people pitching in. It's the oneness of humanity."

The whole bleeding-heart-poet thing just doesn't suit The Fristian.

At 9:30 a.m., Frist opened the Senate, gripping the corners of the lectern, as he had the operating table. Across the city, rolling in a bed of hay, Kuja opened his eyes and grunted. The gorilla kept touching his tongue to his tooth. Something had changed inside of the beast while he slept. Frist smiled and spoke unremarkably from the lectern, reeking of silverback testosterone.

Methinks Laura Blumenfeld’s HooHa is the true source of the stench.