First published in October, 1990

On the charge of sexual misconduct leveled against Oregon Senator Bob Packwood, the Senate Ethics Committee found in his diaries 18 cases of groping, kissing and propositioning, the worst of which read like sexual assault. Here are some of the entries as leaked to us by a molested female staffer.

10/2/89: Dear Diary:

The timber bill comes up for a vote today. Environmentalists would string me up by my balls if I let the lumber companies cut more virgin forest and my constituents will lose jobs if don’t. The logger’s lobbyist is coming over later to lay out their case. Maybe I can get her to lay out my log, which is seven inches of prime spruce. The great thing about this kind of logging is once you cut it down, it grows back in a couple of days. Har-har-har.

On the other hand, the environmental lobbies make a strong case for her side. It’s hard to argue with a pair of hooters like she has. Sure wouldn’t mind taking a look at those spotted owls. The entire issue will require a great deal of thought.

2/4/90: Dear Diary:

Saw Senator Dole’s assistant Eileen in the Senate chambers today and copped a feel. I’ve perfected a technique that’s almost foolproof. When I see somebody who starts my engine, I walk up to them and pretend to trip. My hands fly out reflexively (”ha-ha”) to break my fall and nothing breaks a fall better than two D-cups.

3/10/90: Dear Diary:

Big problems. Senator Hatch told me his secretary has the hots for me and wants my bod. He says he’ll vote for my Mineral Rights bill only if I put the salami to her. I heard about taking care of your employees, but this is going too far. The woman’s a beast. Nine thousand plastic surgeons with forklifts couldn’t repair that face. Why Hatch hired her is beyond me. I tried to negotiate with the Mormon fuck — maybe tickle her butt a little, or give her a quick flash when I pass by the door, but no, it’s got to be the full deed or no vote. This will require a lot of thought.

9/14/91: Dear Diary:

Saw Congressman Barney Frank in the john. He was very embarrassed, and so was John. That teaches me to call first before walking into his office. But I was cool. I pretended I didn’t notice and started talking about our bill. Then Barney got pissed. Hell, how did I know that Bill was there, too! Jesus, I never saw a three-way before and I made mental notes for when those two prime campaign volunteers stop by. Bill’s one of the Senate pages and they were turning him over faster than a Judith Krantz novel. He is as gay as a caballero on a thousand mile cattle drive and is looking at me very funny. Sometimes being a stud has its downside.

11/11/91: Dear Diary:

Senator Mitchell’s legislative assistant Barbara brought over the first draft of minority crime bill. I’ll tell you one thing about crime, it’s a crime I’m not porking Barbara. Her body is brickhouse fine and every time she comes over, I’m trying to figure out a way to free my willie. I offered her a drink but she declined, saying she didn’t like to drink with a baseball bat in her hand.

12/2/91: Dear Diary:

Grabbed Tracy Gorman behind the Xerox machine today and she got a little pissed. What’s the big deal? I was smiling while I did it. She made this big stink about it and it took me about two hours and a couple of thousand dollars to calm her down. I have one question — if she didn’t want me to feather her nest, why did she come into the Xerox room? Sure, she used that old excuse that she had to make copies of the Brady Bill, but if you believe that, I have a room full of radical feminists you can boff. She knew I was copying stuff in there. I had my jacket off and my sleeves rolled up, revealing the well-defined musculature of my sinewy arms which are always bulging with desire. I know what she wanted. This didn’t require a lot of thought.

12/15/91: Dear Diary:

Just found out at the Senate Christmas party and orgy that Kennedy’s press rep is a lesbian. What a waste! If I went over there and put some nifty moves on her, she’d see the light. On the other hand, if Teddy couldn’t make the sheets sing for her, nobody can.

2/5/92: Dear Diary:

What is it with women? Donna Mardesian’s all out of joint. She making a big complaint and says I was looking at her. Jesus, a lousy little look. Besides, I couldn’t see that much because the steam from her shower was so thick.

10/2/89: Dear Diary:

The timber bill comes up for a vote today. Environmentalists would string me up by my balls if I let the lumber companies cut more virgin forest and my constituents will lose jobs if don’t. The logger’s lobbyist is coming over later to lay out their case. Maybe I can get her to lay out my log, which is seven inches of prime spruce. The great thing about this kind of logging is once you cut it down, it grows back in a couple of days. Har-har-har.

On the other hand, the environmental lobbies make a strong case for her side.
It’s hard to argue with a pair of hooters like she has. Sure wouldn’t mind taking a look at those spotted owls.

The entire issue will require a great deal of thought.

3/8/92: Dear Diary:

Pat Schroeder came in to talk about the equal rights amendment, one more time — argggggg! I told her I was all for equal rights. She was definitely coming on to me. I could tell, even with a blood alcohol reading of .60. At least that’s what the guys at Bethesda told me it was after the ambulance driver talked me down from Abe Lincoln’s lap at the memorial.

It’s a frame-up. I don’t even like Lincoln. If I would’ve been anywhere, it would have been at the Jefferson memorial. Jeff was my kind of guy — brilliant, handsome and he liked to boff his slave girls. Why don’t those friggin’ feminists say something about THAT? But noooooooo, he’s one of the founding fathers.

4/1/92: Dear Diary,

I’ve had it. You know my commitment to the environment and its proponents. I have one of them under my desk now, doing a personal environmental impact report.

Now she’s reporting me for harassment. What is her problem? All I did was compliment her and she yells harassment. Since when is saying “your tits are just the right size for my mouth,” something derogatory? It’s a compliment.