RUTHFULLY YOURS

Marilyn Monroe died in 1962, but she still excites the public so much that her chest X-ray sold for $45,000.  She’s the subject of 1,000 books, the inspiration for Macy’s new fashion collection, and an omnipresent icon who outstrips any living star. So why did the media ignore the stunning new evidence tying Bobby Kennedy to her death?

In recently discovered journals of Hollywood private eye Fred Otash, he wrote: “I listened to Marilyn Monroe die.” According to Otash, he had bugged Marilyn’s home and previously recorded Marilyn’s sex sessions with President John Kennedy.  On the night of August 5, 1962, he listened as Marilyn had an hysterical argument with the Kennedys in which she accused them of passing her around “like a piece of meat.”

Otash wrote:

“She was really screaming and they were trying to quiet her down. She’s in the bedroom and Bobby gets the pillow and he muffles her on the bed to keep the neighbors from hearing. She finally quieted down and then he was looking to get out of there.”

Well, that’s a colorful scene, don’t you think? Worthy of a headline or two, perhaps? And yet, remarkably, the media-industrial complex shoved this ultimate A-list gossip into the same handy lock-box where they keep Obama’s college records.

After all, the Kennedys are America’s Eternal Saints of Camelot. We’re not supposed to notice the snowballing evidence of their depravities.  No, our job is to worship them forever, sighing over Jackie’s lovely clothes and voting straight Democratic.

I mean, who could take seriously the idea of a Kennedy leaving a young blonde gasping for air till she died? Oh, wait…Didn’t that marvelous Ted Kennedy, the much-missed “Lion of the Senate”, happen to suffocate 28-year-old Mary Jo Kopechne in his car and then swim to safety, abandoning her while she died?

Here’s what John Farrar, the diver who found Kopechne’s body, testified at the inquest:

“It looked as if she were holding herself up to get a last breath of air. It was a consciously assumed position. … She didn’t drown. She died of suffocation in her own air void. It took her at least three or four hours to die. I could have had her out of that car twenty-five minutes after I got the call. But he [Ted Kennedy] didn’t call.”

Maybe Teddy was inspired to get away with suffocating an obscure “Boiler Room Girl” in Massachusetts because he knew what Bobby had pulled off in Hollywood with the most famous woman in the world.

Of course, where Kennedys are concerned, a little homicide here and there is hardly an impediment to moral magnificence.  Just two weeks ago, Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid assured us that Ted Kennedy would “smile at all of us” when the Senate passed the Gang of Eight immigration bill.  Presumably, Ted casts his radiant beams on us from heaven, where Nancy Pelosi has kindly informed us he now lives. (Funny how Democrats get all mawkishly religious about one of their own.)

It’s amusing to imagine Teddy lounging in the sky, getting sloshed and chasing Cleopatra around the clouds. From his celestial perch, he can gaze down upon the America he did so much to destroy: secretly betraying her to the Soviet Union, as documented in Soviet archives, lying to voters about the true nation-altering impact of his 1965 Immigration Act, and setting the operating table for ObamaCare’s deadly success.

And you can bet that if Papa Joe Kennedy greased enough angels’ palms, President Jack is up there, too, lining up movie stars and Mafia molls for his afternoon assignations.  But, really, what could be more heavenly than JFK’s life on earth? He knew the press would never report his deflowering of a 19-year-old virgin on her fourth day on the job. He was free to ravish intern Mimi Alford in the First Lady’s bedroom, entertain her with rubber duckies in the bathtub, ply her with recreational drugs, and coax her into bestowing sexual favors on little brother Ted. And those naked White House pool parties! The “steady stream” of high-class prostitutes! What in heaven can beat that?

Republicans want their politicians to be competent professionals who do their job and then fade into dignified obscurity. Nobody expects us to burn incense in front of Dwight Eisenhower pictures or eternally mourn Gerald Ford.

But Democrats demand that we bow down in everlasting homage to their most sick, twisted, power-hungry freaks. The Kennedys are gods forever, no matter how many female corpses they leave in their wake. Bill Clinton swaggers across the world as a Great Humanitarian and 2013 “Father of the Year,” despite his unbridled corruption and trail of sexual assaults.  Obama is The Lightbringer, The One, “a sort of god,” whose sordid ties with Marxists, terrorists and crooks must never be discussed.

And now the Democrats are foisting Hillary on us, warning us to get “Ready.”

Never mind that the smiling Ice Queen presided over the butchery of Benghazi, abandoning four brave Americans to savage deaths. Ignore her intimate relationship with her top aide, Huma Abedin, who’s been factually established as a Muslim Brotherhood asset.  Don’t look too closely into Huma’s sham marriage to Anthony Weiner, New York’s pervert Mayor-in-Waiting.  Confine your questions to merely asking: Are you good enough for Hillary?

In this late hour of the republic, America is gasping for breath. Like Marilyn Monroe, our country is uniquely golden and gifted, deeply troubled, and smothering to death under a pillow held by “saintly” politicians.

Stella Paul’s new ebook is What I Miss About America: Reflections from the Golden Age of Hope and Change, available at Amazon for just $1.99.  Write Stella at Stellapundit@aol.com.