Monica Lewinsky walks into a D.C. dry-cleaning shop, and the tinkling bell brings the proprietor -- an elderly gentleman somewhat hard of hearing -- to the counter.

She spreads the dress on the counter. "Is there some way you could remove the stain from this dress?" Monica asks.

"Come again?" the old man asks.

"No, not this time. I think it's mustard," Monica replies.

Oh hell! I think I just crapped myself!