“Shame on you, Bill, you awful sexual degenerate.”
Even more hideous, Bill took this poor unsuspecting innocent to the LINCOLN ROOM! Of all the nerve! But where else could a man with as high a profile as President William Jefferson Clinton take a plump horn-dog in heat for a little organ hounding--Motel 6? Certainly not the Mariott or Hilton or the Four Seasons. He was already in enough trouble for taking up with hussies like Paula Jones and Jennifer Flowers, a tough one to resist, that one.
I admire a man with a healthy sex drive, as long as he’s not trying to steal my woman or committing rape. Unlike some of our past Presidents, like Nixon, Reagan, Carter and probably would-be President Romney, I don’t think Bill slept in his pajamas, unless Hillary was beside him. Bill’s a cad. As a bartender, I’ve observed men like Clinton, with the gleam in their eyes and the smooth gift of gab that reels in the ladies, irresistible sexual magnets we as fellow men all admire and at the same time envy—by men like Nixon who probably got laid by one woman his entire life (and had to beg for that) and then had to witnessJFK poking everything that walked, the lecherous rascal, turning the White House into his own private brothel.
Typical goddam liberal democrat, ey?
So those sexually-repressed puritanical Republicans who as a collective agency profess to worship The Lord and marry one woman for life and never stray, are dredging up Bill’s blowjob again and acquainting it with sexual predator status, the flavor of today. The party of deeply religious closet gays in congress pawing up pages and molesting teenage members of a wrestling team and hanging out in bathroom stalls at airports (all tight-assed against gay marriage, mind you) and senators paying for prostitutes is at it again, led by the thrice married Donald Trump, trying to drag poor old Hillary Clinton down for being married to perhaps the most sexually active man to ever live in the White House and seldom screw his own wife.
Typical goddam liberal democrat, ey?
Trump’s no one to talk, tossing off one wife after another for younger flesh. The Donald, who has stated he likes sex with ladies rather than drinking booze, is suddenly a sanitized sentinel of high moral ground as he joins fellow members of the saint’s party to demonize the First Lady who put up with his ongoing adultery, even accusing her of enabling his dastardliness.
Christ, she didn’t marry him for his dick, she’s too sophisticated and savvy a woman—she married him for his brains, charm, humanity and ambition, not to mention he’s just about the most charismatic rake to ever come down the pike.
The trouble with most of these Republicans holding office, the same ones who tried to impeach Bill for lying about his adultery when everybody knows you lie until caught when it comes to cheating, is that from grammar school onward they were too busy being ambitious as well as perfect while Bill was getting laid in many different forms, realizing early on nothing compares with indecent sport fucking of the forbidden fruit, and especially painted floozies like Paula Jones. (Just ask rogue writers Henry Miller and Charles Bukowski).
Poor paranoid prude Richard Nixon, who accompanied his wife on a first date as a hanger-on while another man squired Pat, and Carter, who admitted looking at young shapely pussy, swallowed hard, denied his prick, and kissed Roslyn on the cheek and showed us his cheesy saved smile while Jesus forgave him for having naughty fantasies. Reagan, of course, must have gotten plenty in those Hollywood days when he wasn’t fingering so-called communists and turning them in, and could hardly pose as pious when he married an ex-actress who tried unsuccessfully to fuck every movie mogul in town to become a star, and failed, but ended up as a White House First Lady, urging young people to be strong and celibate in fear of disease while she steered Ronnie around like a somnambulist.
Currently Rand Paul’s wife, Kelley, a kind of vivacious winsome blond, is on cable TV attacking Bill, claiming it will be hard for Hillary to be a candidate espousing women’s rights when her husband’s a sexual predator. Well, when one is married to a pantywaist like Rand one could hardly distinguish between a predator and a playboy, the latter of which she’s badly in need of. Like all the blond reptiles after his hide, from Ann Coulter to Megyn Kelly, Bill’s going to stick in their craws until the bitter end, especially when Hillary gets elected President, gag gag.
Thing is, what will they say when their worst nightmare occurs and Hillary’s in the White House and Bill’s First Man? God forbid she goes on a foreign policy trip to meet with Merkel and Putin if they’re still around and Bill’s on his own in the Lincoln Room, the old coot well into his seventies but still highly suspect of sleazing after 20 year old interns, if, of course, Hillary allows young succulent babes on the premises. My guess is her advisers will insist she hire all young male Ivy League twerps to keep an eye on him..
I can still see the outrage after rumor of Bill’s first suspicious act of indecency—“He’s at it again! He’s committing fellatio with interns, the rotten no-good sexual predator, he’s soiling the sheets in the Lincoln room! The sneaky depraved cheat just can’t get enough, and he’s an old man!”
In gyms and market places and bowling alleys and post offices and hair salons and coffee houses and diners and meeting places media centers all over America will issue an eerie bereaved chant—“He’s at it again, he’s at it again, we can’t get rid of him, we can’t get rid of him…he’s getting blowjobs, he’s getting blowjobs…”
Eat your hearts out, pencil-necks.