Quick political minute: WTF happened to Bill Clinton? Do you know? Does anyone? There’s something missing from the air, and it’s the sound of alto sax! And soprano sex! (Gennifer Flowers might have been a tenor, I don’t care)
Remember when Clinton could turn the world on with a smile? I’ve been that world. My brother had leprosy, but Bill Clinton touched him and now he is an astronaut. One time Bill Clinton said the word “Middle East” by accident and nothing blew up for nine whole months, anywhere. My mother had a goiter the size of a baby’s fist, but Bill Clinton came along, and do I even have to tell you what happened?
That’s right. Astronaut.
But lately the magic is gone. Bill Clinton just sorts of walking around looking pudgy and sweaty and insulting people and saying awkward things. Good presidents don’t say awkward things! Good presidents paint my house for me! Hell, even George Bush painted my house for me, but then he only made it halfway up and got bored. I gave him a glass of lemonade, but he fell asleep on the lawn. He snores like a motherfucker. Where was Bill Clinton? Not helping me out in my time of need, that’s for sure.
So what the hell happened? Was it the move to the suburbs? The gimmicky Harlem office? Not being president anymore? None of these things, my friends. There is only one explanation.
Bill Clinton has been replaced by a sophisticated robot. You don’t believe me? Look at his stiff motions. His lack of charisma. One time he referred to his daughter as a “fork” and his wife as “Other Robot R-662-A-B.” Those were enough to make me suspicious.
So I took action. Dressed all in black, I snuck quietly into the recess behind the podium at an underattended rally and made my way to the former president’s side. I whispered into his ear. What happens next should be obvious: I made Robot Bill Clinton explode, simply by saying the special command “notnilC lliB.”
Where’s Arsenio Hall to save us now? Oh, that’s right, there no longer is an Arsenio Hall. But never fear! The real Bill Clinton will arrive shortly, in a spaceship, hovering in a beautiful pillar of pure light. He’ll raise his hand and say “I did not say all those things about Barack Obama,” and we’ll all have a lively discussion about what “say” means, and then we’ll sort of just not fight in wars for ten years. And I’ll get a job that doesn’t involve knowing how those frozen hamburgers that come in a box are made. (Hint: It doesn’t make you want to eat them.)