That Old Bag

By Tony Kornheiser

Sunday, September 14, 1997; Page F01
The Washington Post 

Like most of you, I have been saddened by the dramatic
events of the past few weeks. This is a sobering time for all of
us, particularly those of us in the media, as we contemplate the
dirt on our hands and ask whether our fascination with celebrity
has turned us into a ravening pack of jackals. 

I, too, am looking inward, and seeking answers to questions
that have troubled and plagued me. 

There have been two in particular: 

1. In so many of the photographs taken during this sad and
solemn time, why is Prince Charles wearing a skirt?

2. What, exactly, does the queen have in that handbag?

(I mean, aside from a sawbuck to tip the kid who brings her
carriage around, and a couple of pence for the coin-operated
loo.)

What does the queen need to carry? Do you think anybody is
going to ask her for a photo ID to cash a check? She's the
Queen of England! 

Here's something to consider: Does the queen have a credit
card?

What name would it be issued under? 

It can't simply be "Elizabeth II." That sounds like a cabin
cruiser. She's from the House of Windsor, so I guess it would
be Elizabeth Windsor, but credit card companies always make
you use a middle initial. No one knows what the queen's
middle name is. I am guessing "Rasheeda."

Tony, is it possible this column is somewhat, you know,
tasteless?

Anything is possible. 

Do you think maybe you should consider changing the topic
altogether, to stay on the safe side?

Okay, let's write about something else in the news. 

How about President Clinton's noble fight to reform campaign
financing? 

Apparently, the president wants a new set of laws that would
regulate the flow of so-called "soft money," which differs from
so-called "hard money" in that it apparently comes in used
fives, tens and twenties from bald Buddhist nuns who line up to
say howdy to Al Gore, chat him up about Tennessee football
and slip him a finsky in a handshake.

Apparently Gore, the model of modern political rectitude, a
man completely unsullied, as clean as the agitator in a Maytag
washer, apparently old Al worked every phone bank and
collection plate from here to Kalamazoo, pitching wildly, like
early Koufax, working the corners, greasing the skids,
mooching the moolah, currying favors, stuffing pockets,
banking the bananas, salting away a metric ton of cash. 

So we've got these nuns in their saffron robes, looking like
Gandhi and acting like Cosa Nostra bagmen, hauling in the loot
and shredding records, like this was Cicero, Ill., in 1929, and
all I can think of is, where do they stash the money? In the
folds of those long robes -- or underneath there, do they carry
a purse? 

Which reminded me of that ridiculous royal handbag.

I took a survey around the newsroom, asking people what they
thought the queen had in that purse. (The experience reminded
me of Monty Hall on "Let's Make a Deal." Do you remember
at the end of the show, when Monty would be bouncing
through the aisles, pulling women out of their seats and saying
things like, "I'll give you $50 for an egg. If you've got an egg 
in your purse it's worth $50." Who carries an egg in her purse?
Seriously, who gets up in the morning and says, "Today, I think
I'll put an egg in my purse -- and tomorrow maybe a lamb
chop!")

By the end of the day I had gotten nearly a hundred guesses as
to the contents of the queen's purse. Here were some of the
best:

Prunes. 

A locket with a picture of Jackie Mason.

A cyanide capsule. 

Charles's manhood. 

An egg. 

A Popeil Pocket Fisherman.

A baggie to pick up corgi poop. 

Soft money. 

A folding "travel" crown.

Spray starch.

Bowling shoes. 

A Giga Pet.

Her "works." 

A compact of face powder in a shade called "Dour."

And this, from the redoubtable Mr. Henry, America's
                         best-loved feature writer:

"A .357 Magnum Smith & Wesson Model 642
aluminum-frame revolver, snub-nose, hammerless, loaded with
Federal 125-grain Hydroshock ammunition. She fires it right
through the purse -- she'd leave a hole you can cover with your
hand at 50 feet."

My favorite response was: 

"Ahem, we carry our conscience in our purse, as we have little
or no need for it elsewhere on our person." 

© Copyright 1997 The Washington Post Company