Bill (“Color me fascist”) Clinton
Just when Americans breathed relief that Arkansas could not produce anything downhill from Orval Faubus, they afflicted us with Bill Clinton, who has brought our nation around a bend in the road that enables Americans to catch a glimpse of Armageddon. Via the reek of his corruption, America has begun to draw scavengers. Clinton’s deterioration of our freedom, dishonor of his office, pollution of our ethos, and generalized depravity, have given tyranny a foothold in the bog he has made of our culture, and has run down the future until it has become a slum neighborhood in which our children must live.
Lamentably, we live in a political age when all the world’s leaders are worthless simpering buttercups. One sickens at the prospect of Tony Blair’s candy ass resting on a pew in the House of Commons that once pedestaled the noble haunches of William Pitt, Benjamin Disraeli and Winston Churchill.
In our country, politics reached its nadir with Bill Clinton, the only sonofabitch in America you can call a liar, a traitor, or a pervert (or for that matter a sonofabitch, as I do here) without getting into a fistfight, because Clinton is also a coward. In a time of danger, or even risk, a sluice gate opens in his viscera and releases a pond into his pants of sufficient volume to stock with trout. It will be remembered, rather than stand with his countrymen in Viet Nam, Clinton spent his time at Oxford sniffing chairs, hoping to catch an after-fragrance of the limp and supercilious Sebastian Flyte.
Clinton is the liar’s’ liar, the traitor’s traitor, the pervert’s pervert, and the scumbag’s scumbag. In order to look presidential by comparison, he surrounded himself with bureaucratic ciphers that are all tapioca pudding and false grit. His Cabinet boasts not one individual of purpose or character who has the courage to suggest an alternative, let alone oppose him. Most have little worthwhile experience. They are the “Ain’t Been There – Ain’t Done That Gang.” (Despite her worthless adventures in the UN, it is apparent Secretary of State Madeleine Albright’s most significant experience in foreign relations is once having had breakfast in The International House of Pancakes.)
Bill Clinton, the Arkansas Maggot, wants to be dictator more than many Americans want to be free. Deluged by the weight and frequency of Clinton’s lies, Americans have gone insensate. The adjustment to this is least arduous for Clinton’s most loyal (read: susceptible) constituency – the ignorant – who have always met all tests of perception with The Numb Response. The people they send to the Senate further corroborate that.
The Clintons are already referring to their new home in Chappaqua as the Winter Palace, and have affixed to their “limo” a bumper sticker that reads “Get Imperial!” We wonder, but not extensively, how giddy with nausea their soon-to-be neighbors are becoming, knowing they soon will be living next door to the Donny and Marie of moral depravity. It is a valid sociological phenomenon, irrespective of where Americans reside, by having the Clintons in the White House, we are all haunted with a feeling of living next door to a family of slobs.
We suspect the distress of the Chappaqua locals will become even more intense when they have to obfuscate the news their community has been oozed into by sludge from Arkansas. It has been manifest since 1992 the Clinton corruption is as contagious as typhus, and that one bite from Hillary will cause an anopheles mosquito to suffer an agonizing death. It is expected people of the parish will not only hide their daughters, they will lock up their DNA in safety deposit boxes.
The Clinton infestation has termite-weakened America’s national defense structure for oily political money, and subverted faith in our system of government with sneaky and labyrinthine backroom legislative connivance. Now comes the demolition ball: confiscation, curfew, and extralegal Arkansas-type Nuremberg laws. Aspiring despots need an Orwellian paradox as a catalyst for their usurpation of power, especially the particularly furtive, on the sly, under the table, thief in the night, back alley, despot-in-waiting like Bill Clinton. Thus, and with straight face, Clinton will propose himself as the only viable alternative to the corruption he has created, in a sense the venomous antidote to his own venom.
Bill Clinton has forgotten the destiny of dictators – Hitler’s Götterdämerrung, marinated in gasoline, and luau-ed in the Reich Ministry Garden, and Benito Mussolini hung by his heels in a gas station in Milan. Still, Clinton is immune to his corruption the same way the cottonmouth is invulnerable to its own poison. Of course, the serpent’s immunity isn’t reinforced by a cowardly Congress, a complicit press and voracious hordes of conscienceless minority groups. [Note: Some property of the liberals’ DNA enables them to survive the political toxins with which they destroy their host. Three months after Bela Abzug died, the coroner had to trap her hat in a corner of a room and beat it to death with a stick.]
This Arkansas shit-kicker is the most profoundly addicted power junkie since Attila the Hick. Despite the two term limitation spelled out in the 22nd Amendment, Clinton’s innuendoes about illegally succeeding himself in office are not idle ones. It is widely believed he will assume dictatorial powers after fomenting a foreign war, or racial strife, or a Y2K panic. Or, it may be subtler. He has already begun diluting Al Gore’s viability by siphoning off his Vice President’s financial and public relations support, and will, in a counterfeit display of self-sacrifice, offer himself again to the Democratic convention as the Party’s nominee because “Al just can’t cut it.” Some have alluded Gore is aware of this possibility because, “He’s not that dumb.” Anyone even casually acquainted with Gore’s track record knows he is as dumb as the occasion demands.
The first sign of Bill Clinton’s totalitarian inclinations became manifest during puberty when he saw a film of Adolph Hitler haranguing a Nuremberg rally, and got an erection. By age 12 Bubba was a common sight on the street corners of Little Rock, playing Deutchland Uber Alles on his ocarina. His trifling musical gifts (we’ve been exposed to his abuse of the saxophone) led his mother to enroll him at the Arkansas Conservatory of Hawg Calling, (sometimes called the Julliard of the Ozarks.)
The initial chill coursed through our bodies the night of his presidential victory, when Clinton announced, irrespective of the Constitution, we were getting “two for the price of one”, and that, henceforth, America would be under the implacable thumbs of the Ceaucescus of Sunnybrook Farm. Bubba and Hillary immediately set themselves to making out the guest list for their coronation. Bill would be Louis the Umpteenth, Hillary, the new Marie Antoinette, who would be remembered in history for the words, “Let them eat spin.”
We need remind no one Bill Clinton got his political savvy in Arkansas, where Rumpelstilskin learned to spin straw into graft. As they have for generations, Arkansas Democrats pressure-pumped Clinton’s political pus through the system. Bubba promised us the most ethical administration in history. Instead he gave us government by damage control. Bill Clinton himself is a tireless miscreant. He is the Energizer Bunny with a criminal mainspring. Unhindered by considerations of conscience, Clinton has wrought deterioration on our country using the nation’s largesse to deodorize his crooked manipulations. He has gotten away with everything, not by hiding his crimes, but by embracing them, a faculty for which our solons and media praise him to the skies. The resurrection of the Waco tragedy is now giving him a second chance to embrace mass murder, which he has begun by reaffirming his faith in Janet Reno. (In a serial dissembler like Clinton, hypocrisy reaches orgasm when he rhapsodizes about Janet Reno, the Accomplice General.) If history instructs us, the press and the Congress will have another go at a whitewash, though they may experience a twinge that Waco is a manifestation of the Clinton evil so total as to yield no consolations.
There is nothing wrong with the Clinton Administration that a mutiny could not cure. The seeds of a second America Revolution are planted. Colonial America’s enemy, George the Third, has been replaced by Bubba of Arkansas. Clinton has declared himself our tin god and our Jack-in-office, who, in contravention to law (Title 18 US Code, PART I, Chapter 67, § 1385, The Posse Comitatus Act) ordered the Department of Justice polizei, backed by Delta Force commandos, to burn Americans in their homes. If, when, or whether, Clinton determines the need, another such ad hoc brigade will shoot down Americans in the streets – citizens who, in collusion with a quisling Congress, Clinton has contrived to disarm. The survivors will be rounded up and penned in the Astrodome to await Clinton’s pleasure.
It is the standard operating procedure of despots to oppress people to the point of acting rashly, then crushing them for it. Like Hitler, Clinton will keep “up-ing the ante” of his demands on the American people’s freedom until they have no choice but to resist – and then he will move in with armed and lunatic force. (We recall, with anguish, the “fuzz” who descended on Ruby Ridge and bullhorned defiantly, “We hear you people are survivalists. Let’s see what ya’ got!” Survivalists these rural folks may have been. Survive, they did not.)
The Branch Davidians are “86”, but the vital signs of their tragedy are still active. Karma has provided a pulse, and this theater of cruelty refuses to close down. The current spin for Reno’s ending eighty and more men, women and children as a cookout, is horse-collared around the non-conformist neck of David Koresh, for stubbornly refusing to produce Proof of Insurance without which the fireman would not unwind the hose. A more reasonable scenario is, while Reno was sitting in her office getting “sloshed”, the Branch Davidians were being gassed and incinerated, and last-gasping to each other, “Who do you have to know to get on Schindler’s list?”
The “investigation” of Janet Reno’s Grand Guignol on the prairie is well launched, its autopilot heading set on Oblivion. It was inevitable with so many non-partisan (read: gelded) Republicans to choose from, John Danforth, like his former colleagues, wants to be understood as “reasonable” (read: impotent.) After his investigation, we are confident he will have reasoned the Waco massacre was a Christian cult ploy that boomeranged, and, by the way, under certain circumstances, water is not necessarily wet.
Democrats will, of course, protest Janet Reno’s “shopped around” integrity, which will trigger yet another scavenger hunt to try to find it. The raw truth is, she has none. In the vernacular of the Japanese sumurai, her code of honor is more bullshit than bushido. The poignant question is, if the lady is not fecal matter, why does she keep turning up in toilet bowls? Before you ever see an honest investigation by Reno’s Justice Department, you will see a gondola glide by the checkered flag at the finish line of the Indy 500.
It was apparent early on that Reno had slipped from psychologically irresponsible to morally defective. She expresses hope the inquiry will be weighed on its merits. There are no merits here to weigh. Only a pettifogging ethically-challenged shyster could presume mass murder has quantifiable justifications. Her perception of that as a viable possibility is in and of itself an abomination.
Janet Reno, our shake ‘n bake Attorney General, keeps repeating the mantra, “The buck stops with me.” It is not the buck, but the bottle that stops with her. When she gets blotto someone has to pay – and sorely. Not for nothing does the gang at the DOJ call Reno “The Life of the Massacre.” (Nobody really knows where this creature came from, but every time she takes a walk in the park, people look to the skies to see if they can spot the mother ship.) We may be glimpsing the endgame, since Reno now spends more time looking for a fall guy than for a swizzle stick. (Speaking of fall guys, does the name Louis Freeh ring a bell?) Reno has too much on Clinton to get “pink slipped”, but Freeh will be finessed out the egress without a whimper. The word is he was bitten on the neck by Trent Lott, who has a cowardice-inducing agent in his saliva that could have turned all the vertebrae in King Kong’s spine to squish. As for the lady herself, we will know Bubba no longer worries about anything she might reveal when we see her ass being chewed to pieces on her way down through the White House paper shredder.
Hillary is a Bill Clinton enabler, and that’s part of her job. In Trent Lott’s case, he enables Clinton in lieu of the courage to do anything else. His equally weak-kneed colleagues tell any who will listen that Lott’s aiding and abetting in Clinton’s impending coup is being done unwittingly. An unwitting accomplice is the worst kind of accomplice. In fact, Trent Lott is the worst kind of anything. By his dereliction, Trent Lott licensed Clinton and Reno to run amok in Washington and to use the Constitution of the United States for bung wad.
The shakiness of Reno’s principles has now spread to the rest of her body. (A gynecologist says it is a symptom common to women who “do themselves” too often using a motorized coat rack.) Still, the wall that shields her, and the out-of- sight-with-corruption Clinton administration”, remains structurally intact, i.e. the Republicans majority in the Senate. Only the moral sinew of Bob Smith of New Hampshire makes it possible to determine the odds of finding a Senator with balls are a hundred to one against.
Spunkless, panic-prone Republicans are no match for religious apostates like Diane Feinstein, Barbara Boxer and Charles Schumer, who, by consent conveyed in their silence, are allowing the Clinton Administration to collaborate with Yasir Arafat in nibbling the State of Israel out of existence, then are going about disarming their tribesmen so that Clinton can usher them, docile and resigned, into the Buchenwald gas oven being recreated as an exhibit in the Clinton Library.
There is no comparable period in history so characterized by a confluence of aggravated evil and shameless cowardice. Clinton is a synthesis of what is thinkable as the human capacity for degradation. The Senate is a moldering vat of indecision and expediency. It is Trent Lott’s responsibility to make sure the vat remains unstirred lest it disturb its natural fetid stagnation.
Trent Lott is the Senate’s Judge Ito because of his proclivity to be intimidated by trashy people. No Senator is more timid, none more derelict in his oath. Lott tippy-toes around Washington more tentatively than The Flying Wallendas in a high wind. Lott won’t sit on a commode that doesn’t have seatbelts. Trent Lott can’t fight, and he doesn’t have the tact to hide. Under his aegis, Senate Republicans have abandoned their constituents. His leadership recalls one of the most painful and censurable happenings of World War II when a B-17 took a burst of flak, and the pilot, (a Captain who was a much celebrated college athlete) bailed out on his crew.
Lott’s poltroonery has reached a point where he envies the average citizen’s powerlessness. Like the witch in the Wizard of Oz, a vote of conscience could cause Trent Lott to melt into a puddle. Should Lott ever be asked to leave his testicles to medical science, he could say with legitimacy. “I already gave at the office.”
Only the shameless could choose Lott as their Majority Leader, a political hack that has convinced his majority it is folly to lead. He has neither the virtue nor the testosterone to point the way. He astonishes his colleagues when he exhibits the guts to call for a five-minute potty break.
Finally, in a burst of poll-driven pragmatism, Lott offered the mousy assertion – “Perhaps Reno should resign.” Well, as the folks down in the holler say, “Perhaps don’t feed the bulldog.” Lott is fluent in the lingua of non-officialese, the twaddle that has not the force of law. Lott’s concurrence in any rational opinion is sufficient to make us doubt its wisdom. Even if he concedes that two and two is four, anyone who agreed would be compelled to do so with regret. Reno must go and so must Lott. Reno is as much Lott’s creature as she is Clinton’s.
While it has filtered through to some Americans their fellow citizens are being shot from ambush and barbecued in their homes, the scent of burning flesh has not been detected in the Senate as its indigenous effluvium of self-absorption and pragmatism has overpowered it. One wonders what kind of insulation do these guys wrap their souls in. It says all that – they don’t get it – because they just don’t want it.
One wonders whether the Republican National Committee seeks candidates for the Senate who are already castrated or who will perform the act on themselves as a rite of initiation. While Clinton is brazen, the Senate must grope even for the courage to be whimsical. Every new poll sets them trembling like aspen leafs. Like frightened first time air passengers, the Senate Republicans are white-knuckle legislators. The dankness produced by their fear has coerced the paste to yield its grip on the Senate chamber’s wallpaper. It is difficult to imagine they are so vulnerable to intimidation by Bill Clinton, a beefy yokel who looks as though if you cut him he would bleed Hollandaise sauce, or some other milky-curdy stuff, flecked with greenish impurities.
In the profusion of garden-variety injustices rampant throughout the Clinton era, the cold sweat of the Republicans in the Senate damned near caused their Republican colleagues to forfeit control of the House. Had these same solons been in session in 1775, descendants of George the Third would be sipping “high tea” and comparing their hereditary symptoms of porphyria in the old Washington place up in Mount Vernon.
As always, it is not the White House nor the Department of Justice that will be “on the carpet.” We know them for what they are. It is the Republicans majority in the United States Senate that is in for another round of heavy condemnation. Because of its cowardly recoil from its Constitutional obligation in the impeachment trial of Bill Clinton, the Senate stands indicted, not only by the American people, but by the American heritage. The Senate itself is impeached – the charge: reckless endangerment of liberty.
With its agencies in contretemps, the government is in vaporlock, a condition of bureaucratic impotence congenial for Bill Clinton to make his Presidency perpetual, which would settle on the land a permafrost of Clintonian fascism where nothing that nourishes the human spirit can grow.
Politicians are as totalitarian as we allow them to be. If we continue to tolerate the Clinton epidemic of sin, I don’t believe we can, in good conscience, ask Jesus to endure another crucifixion to get us off the hook.