Jenna: The Polite Way to Party

More reports of Jenna Bush falling not far from the tree (and off her barstool) at Smith Point bar. One correspondent recounted the sighting at the Georgetown establishment (and we do mean establishment) thusly:

Once again, Jenna Bush was letting loose at Smith Point on Saturday night. She and three friends were saddled up at the bar, and were surrounded by a number of people trying to talk to her. I went over to the bar where they were standing myself, and was ordering a drink when Jenna fell off her barstool. Being the gentleman that I am, I helped her up and she was nice enough to thank me and buy me a drink. Unfortunately I missed their outing last week, but I was surprised by the lack of Secret Service -- they were no where in sight.
So impressed. Last time a gentleman picked us up off the floor, we yanked him right back down! Jenna, on the other hand, is all class; good manners were still intact even if her balance wasn't. Imagine how drunk she's have to be to pose for fake lesbian soft-core photographs with us!

No, seriously, we're looking for a target range here.

Jenna's attraction to the place escapes us. As another correspondent noted, "If she keeps this up she's going to turn this bar into some sort of preppy meat-market brimming with young neocons. Oh wait. . . " Details about the bar don't make it sound any more appealing:

Jenna however failed to appear last Thursday when only exclusive card-carrying members (I'm not kidding here) can gain entrance to the club. While achievement of 'list status' is in and of itself an difficult feat, true devotees of this preppy dive bar are given membership cards emblazoned to swipe on special members-only nights. This would be unremarkable if perhaps the bar was swank. However, the bar is in essence a back alley filled with trashbags and has plastic doors. Imagine a DJ playing 80's nostaligia pop while male Hill Staffers in Lilly Pulitzer pants and female lobbyists in seersucker suits puke into garbage cans. Talk about the Two Americas. . .
Huh. Either our technicolor yawn operative (we notice he's not so repulsed by the baby neocons' behavior that he doesn't still go there. . .) is still under the influence, or what we heard about boy Hill staffers were getting into their colleagues' Lilly Pulitzer pants is much more interesting than just boning an intern.

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