Damn it! I knew there was a reason why I got turned down for that White House internship! Man, I just knew I should have brought a tape recorder with me. Just think how much that tape (or any tape, really) would be worth coming out of the White House right now.

I’ve been watching the news lately about the alleged “Interngate” incident, and I’m really kind of disappointed in the network news. They pretty much have related this story as a game of “Clue” – The President had sex in the conservatory with Col. Mustard and a wrench.

But the news has found me the ultimate dream position: special prosecutor. Kenneth Starr can do anything he wants and it’s all bankrolled by the government. That job is so much better than anything the IRS can offer. How can I get that job? Do you think Vernon Jordan would help out?

I think the most important question is this: When the going gets tough, and the media starts to close in on President Clinton, who is going to drive the white Bronco down I-95 at 50 MPH? (Of course, here in Washington, going under 70 on the Beltway would probably get them killed.) Vernon Jordan, Al Gore or Janet Reno?

My money’s on Janet.

It seems obvious to me that I’ve gotten it all wrong about women all of these years. I’ve been going to chick flicks, reading Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus and trying to get in touch with my inner child.

What I should have been working on are my pasty white thighs and going to McDonald’s every day. Then the babes would just start to roll in. Of course, they would all have bad hair and sue me, but that’s beside the point.

That Monica chick has just got to be loaded. Think about it: $50,000 for coffee with the President, $500,000 to spend the night in the Lincoln bedroom.

How much do you have to donate to the DNC to have sex with the president? And for 18 months! Think of the cash involved there! The DNC could wipe out the deficit. They could buy Canada. I could pay off half my student loans for what it costs to have sex with Bill Clinton. Maybe I’ll change my political allegiance to Democrat. It’s obvious that’s where all the money is anyway.

My friend John told me tabloid reporters were at the Crow Bar last Thursday offering a thousand dollars for information about Monica Lewinski. As a distinguished member of the journalism community here in Washington, D.C., I have this to say: Monica Lewinski and I are lovers. We have been for years. Sex, sex, sex. Oh boy, the stories I could tell you about her. And the president. I know ALL about the sordid goings-on in the house down the street.

But that’s not true, is it? You can’t even spell Lewinsky.

Maybe so, but I’ve got a phone bill that needs to be paid. And besides, I’ve got an even bigger problem than my bills right now. But I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I’m trying to go cold turkey.

Editor’s note: We’ve been keeping this private for years, but we here at The Hatchet think it’s time to bring Tryg’s little problem into the light of day so he can get some help. Since mid-December, it’s really begun to affect him. Usually it goes away after the weekend, but he’s a little upset about it this year. We need to talk about this, Tryg.

No! Please! I’ll do anything! I’ll go back into therapy! I’ll wash your car! Anything, please, just don’t tell them!

But they need to know. You need help. What about a substitution? Can you find something else to replace it?

Probably, but you never get that same rush as you do with the real thing. It’s like getting Adam Green instead of Adam Sandler: Same name, but just not as funny.

C’mon. Admit it. You’re a junky, just like all of your friends. You’re hooked, and you can never get enough. Admit it, right here and now. Only then can you start the healing process.

No I can’t. It’s just too painful. Please, why can’t I just suffer silently with my addiction?

It’s for your own good. It’s that time of year where you need to move on. Why don’t you start with the introduction you use at your meetings?

Okay, I will. Here goes: My name is Trygve Olsen, and I am addicted to football. It has been approximately 12 hours since my last football game. Send Steve Sabol and a bag of Doritos immediately, please.

That’s great. Admission is the first step to recovery. That,and a lot of NHL hockey games will get you through February.