June 19, 2002
All the President’s Ken. Mike Whybark's shocking revelation that I was Deep Throat has not been met with the media feeding frenzy I had envisioned. I can't say I'm shocked that the herd of sheep which we call the American Press has continued to pursue the same old dead-end leads like Buchanan, but I have to admit I'm disappointed for Mike that this hasn't turned out to be the career-making scoop he hoped it would be.
Mike's been working his ass off at the West Seattle Pennysaver for months now, and he thought this story would help him get the promotion to Assistant Classifieds Editor he's been bucking for. [Not that I had planned to let Mike in on my little secret. You know how it is. You’re out with the guys, having a few Johnny Walker Blacks, shooting the breeze, and the next thing you know you can’t leave your house without a dozen cameramen jumping out from behind the bushes.] So just to help Mike out, I'd like to offer a little elaboration to the original report.
Back in my day, before the whole Watergate mess ruined this great nation, there used to be a little thing I like to call trust. That's right, kids, there used to be a time when you could do a simple thing like breaking a 30-year silence about your role in bringing down the leader of the free world without people getting all nosy, asking a lot of stupid questions which are frankly none of their goddamned business. But Ken, they ask, why have you waited until now to reveal these facts? How did you have access to information only available to the inner circle of Nixon's staff? Why don't you look or sound anything like Hal Holbrooke?
While I'm not yet prepared to reveal the entire story (I'm saving the juicy details for my upcoming e-book, available exclusively through Salon’s Deep Throat imprint), I can present a few previously unknown bits of information for the doubters, which will hopefully shed a little light on one of the greatest mysteries of our time.
Mike's been working his ass off at the West Seattle Pennysaver for months now, and he thought this story would help him get the promotion to Assistant Classifieds Editor he's been bucking for. [Not that I had planned to let Mike in on my little secret. You know how it is. You’re out with the guys, having a few Johnny Walker Blacks, shooting the breeze, and the next thing you know you can’t leave your house without a dozen cameramen jumping out from behind the bushes.] So just to help Mike out, I'd like to offer a little elaboration to the original report.
Back in my day, before the whole Watergate mess ruined this great nation, there used to be a little thing I like to call trust. That's right, kids, there used to be a time when you could do a simple thing like breaking a 30-year silence about your role in bringing down the leader of the free world without people getting all nosy, asking a lot of stupid questions which are frankly none of their goddamned business. But Ken, they ask, why have you waited until now to reveal these facts? How did you have access to information only available to the inner circle of Nixon's staff? Why don't you look or sound anything like Hal Holbrooke?
While I'm not yet prepared to reveal the entire story (I'm saving the juicy details for my upcoming e-book, available exclusively through Salon’s Deep Throat imprint), I can present a few previously unknown bits of information for the doubters, which will hopefully shed a little light on one of the greatest mysteries of our time.
- It is totally the kind of thing I would do. Find anybody who knows me, and ask them if this is the kind of thing I would do, and they'll definitely say, "Yes, that is so like Ken to do that."
- I was the Associate Chief of Staff under Nixon from 1970-1972, before I was fired for stealing office supplies. In my official exit interview/review, now available through the Freedom of Information Act, it is revealed that not only was I cited for “looking kinda shifty-eyed” and “holding a mean grudge,” but that I signed the nondisclosure form “Joe Friday,” completely absolving me from any penalties resulting from my actions.
- I like hanging around parking garages.
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