Are we really going to let Bill Clinton back into the White House? Back into the Oval Office? Back into that little room next to the Oval Office…where The Big Dog and that little pussy cat used to analingus each other? Where The Big Dog scented his cigars with Monica’s natural juices?
(FULL DISCLOSURE: When I was a young reporter at the Cleveland Plain Dealer, the editor of the newspaper, Thomas Van Heusen Vail, taught me to dip my cigar into cognac to flavor it (Martel, not Monica).
Now look, I realize The Big Dog is older. I realize he’s had serious heart issues. I realize he’s nearly a vegan…but none of that guarantees The Big Dog can’t make his Willard stand up anymore.
What we Americans need in 2016 is a flat-out, rock hard guarantee (no, not that) but a rock hard guarantee that, you know, his old and dear good buddy Willard can’t stand up anymore. But…but…but how can we be sure that he can’t? So sure that we let him back into that little room with his big cigar in his mouth and with whatever intern or assistant to the President lying there on that couch–or kneeling on it–while Hillary is off on some global trip with her assistant, Huma Abedin.
Let me tell you how we could be sure. I’d have no problem letting him back into that little room in the White House if…
Bill Clinton goes to court and swears–in an affidavit that Willard can’t stand up anymore. What The Big Dog needs (and what I and my fellow Americans need) is a Certificate of Impotence—court-certified, medically-proven by a panel of doctors.
If The Big Dog swears to the world publicly that poor used-up and dog-eared Willard can’t stand… then we’ll let The Big Dog and his cigar back.