New Hampshire Is for Lovers

In her mind, she stared at the president and yelled "Liar!" But when she opened her mouth, something altogether different came out.

By Dave Eggers

May 20, 2004 | "Liar!" she yelled.

In her mind she yelled this to J. Junior Inferior, yelled it with the force of a hurricane, or a very big wave or some other kind of powerful force of nature. Perhaps a tsunami. In the ten seconds Victoria Passionately buried her face in her Reporter's Notebook and searched for the right words to say, she envisioned herself screaming "Liar!" a dozen times in the face of the president. Each time she would say the word, his face would shrink a bit more, as if she were a jungle head-shrinker of some kind, and this word, "Liar," was the agent with which she would perform her magic. Ha ha! she thought. He'd look so stupid with a tiny little head! Awesome.

But when she finally heard herself speak, the words that found their way into the world were, not "Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar!"

She said, instead, just one word, and that word was "Meatshit."

"Meatshit" is what she said to the president. She said it loud, and she said it clearly, in a tone of voice that was so steady and flat that even she was a bit frightened by its lifelessness. For at least four seconds, this one word, "Meatshit," was the most important, most intriguing, in the state of New Hampshire, which at the time was the most important state in the United States of America, which was by some accounts the most important -- or at the very least the most powerful and entertaining -- country in the world. Thus, for four seconds, "Meatshit," spoken loudly by Victoria Passionately, was the most important utterance made by any human on the planet.

In the seconds after this word, "Meatshit," filled the room, everyone within the Hilton conference room's walls, including Victoria Passionately, had the same set of questions on their minds. In order: 1) Did she say just "Meatshit"? 2a) Is "Meatshit" a word? 2b) What does "Meatshit" mean? 2c) Is it a kind of meat, or a kind of shit? 3) Did she mean to say "Eat shit" but somehow changed her mind mid-utterance? 4) What will the president say in response? 5) Why aren't the Secret Service people doing anything? 6) Why am I stuck in my head, asking questions about this lunatic, when I should be back in this room, listening to this lunatic disrupting the press conference?

Victoria Passionately had indeed meant to say "Eat shit," and somehow, in the space between the parting of her lips and the first vibrations of her vocal cords, her brain had sent a signal indicating that perhaps "Eat shit" was not the best use of her time, that perhaps something like "My people want to be free!" would be better. But, like so many memos, this one was sent too late; her vocal apparatus could only add the M-sound to the front end of the existing directive.

The room had gone very quiet, as all those gathered pondered the questions enumerated above, and while the president and his people all individually decided just how to react to this word, "Meatshit," which sounded very much like an insult.

"What did you just say?" the president managed, hoping that perhaps this young woman in red would recant in a clever enough way to convince the assembled media that she hadn't really said what she said, and at the very least hadn't meant it.

But sometime in the seconds of gasping silence left in the wake of "Meatshit," Victoria Passionately concluded that the best way to salvage this moment, to justify six months of planning, to inspire the millions like her, each of her brothers and sisters joined in protest, silent or otherwise, would be to stick by this word, to repeat it first and ask questions/manufacture its meaning later. So repeat it she did. She again raised her fist, '68-Olympics style, and said:

"Meatshit!"

This time the word was unmistakable. This time even the Spanish premier, Javiar Johnson-Marias, understood it, or thought it did -- he had settled on the certainty that Victoria Passionately was simply comparing the president, and the proceedings generally, to a bad cut of steak, an analogy to which he was not opposed.

But by now she'd done it. Miliseconds after the second instance of "Meatshit," Victoria Passionately was finally removed from the room by officials, and within one minute was standing in the parking lot of the Nashua Hilton, in her coat and hat, the sky darkening, her breath visible.

What had she done? Had she done anything? She wouldn't know for hours.

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