It's Clinton's fault 

They tried to tell me. Over and over, year after year. Talk radio and the local daily newspaper especially. The truth was out there. Been a snake I’m a hundredfold bit. Right there in front of me, but I was one of those “none so blind as they who will not see” mentioned in the hymn or country classic or Gospel passage, wherever it is.

Ah, but I’ve come around at last, like Saul en route to Damascus, or Dennis Miller. Praise the Lord I’ve seen the light. The scales have fallen. I “get” it finally. It’s so obvious and I feel so foolish.


For everything.

Everything bad in this state, in this country, in this world — and even out of this world, like the space shuttle disaster or if there’s one of those doomsday asteroids tumbling this way with Earth’s name on it.

You really can make the case that every single evil of modernity is his fault. And they’ve been making the case all this time, in the morning paper or on your car radio there or in any of a dozen Southern Baptist Conventions, again and again and again, since long before Troopergate and Travelgate and Fostergate and Gennifer Flowers peeing in that brass bowl, right up to “The Path to 9-11” and North Korea’s A-bomb.

From David Hale and Justice Jim to Pat Robertson and Mama Judd, they all made the case and I couldn’t or wouldn’t see it. I wouldn’t climb aboard. And only now do I understand why: That was his fault too.

He obviously pulled some kind of evil wool over my eyes, and lots of other people’s eyes, an evil wool similar to what the Saddamites pulled over those WMD inspectors’ eyes.

Or he cast some kind of spell that he couldn’t have got anywhere except the occult. Maybe he got it from snorting those bushels of pure cocaine that he and Reagan and them got their Contra serial killers to smuggle up through the Mena airport. Maybe he got it watching them gay Teletubbies cavort. Anyhow it was strong occult stuff — strong enough to dupe the normally undupable likes of ol’ moi.

This isn’t excuse-making on my part, either. I’m not trying to evade responsibility. I won’t claim I was abused as a child or needed to enter rehab. I’m not trying to pull a Ken Lay or saying you should judge me less harshly because I’m black. I’m not black. No, really. I don’t even have very many of the characteristics. And HE’s not black either, despite all that nonsense about him being the first black president.

So this isn’t making excuses, it’s just by way of explanation of how foolish I was for so long, like those See No, Hear No, and Speak No monkeys. It might near HAD to be a spell or evil wool. And while I accept full responsibility, I can tell you a thing or three about the Antichrist now that I’m awake again and have seen the light, which of course the poor Shiavo woman — also his fault—never got the opportunity.

I’ve been making a list. It’s a list of all the tragedies and disasters and disappointments and just plain crummy developments of recent decades that I can see now are directly attributable to Bill Clinton. One way or another he caused them all, going back to when the Beatles broke up. Thalidomide was his fault. Janet Jackson’s Superbowl nipple. It’s a long-ass list, ranging from Katrina and the tsunami to Jerry Jones’ plastic surgery. Fire ants are on there. The snakehead fish. “Ishtar.” Gestalt. Cowboy poetry. The tightwad Texarkana Baptists who wouldn’t give Flubahuck and the dirigiblettes the deluxe super perk-pak like Hay-sue and the 12 originals got.

The list got so long that it lost all meaning. All the bad things are his fault, and bad things are all that are left. They are innumerable, like grains of sand or Vioxxes that had to be discarded or Duggars. So it’s hopeless trying to list all the crappiness he caused and continues to cause, and I’m reduced to a couple of revealing examples.

• It’s Bill Clinton’s fault that Dennis Hastert is so fat. If you’ll think it through — let those scales fall from YOUR eyes — you’ll realize what led to the speaker’s cramming of all those Goo-Goo Clusters and his famous keg swills.

• It’s Bill Clinton’s fault that Vice President Cheney shotgunned that old guy in the face when they were out birdhunting last year. The GFY veep had come to see Clinton’s smirky big-red-nose face on every passing bird and bird hunter, on every fluttering leaf and glint off an SS sunglasses lens, and the wonder is he didn’t bag a whole lot more companions, foliage, and game. He was the REAL victim and I’ve come to see that I’m a real victim too. Bill Clinton is the true author of many of my personal problems. Well, OK, yes, ALL of my personal problems. It’s been worse on me than it ever was on Paula Jones and he noloed her off for $800,000. We’ll just have to see if there’s still any justice when I put in my claim.



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