The Memoirs of President Bill Clinton
Hey, yeah hey you. I’m Bill Clinton and these are my memoirs. Listen up man and I’ll tell ya what ya need to know.
The Early Years
Yeah I think it was about 300 BC.
I had just rented out a nice place in the desert with my girl, Haarlaxxa, yeah that’s right. She was a telepathic warlord. I could barely sleep over her dang “midnight animal killing” thing she used to do. Women, man. I’ll tell you what.
But you know, we did what we had to do to get by. Just squirtin’ out particle beams and poppin’ down into the void zone to rake up some plasma bucks that the laser camels dropped out of their humps. Those crazy laser camels man I’ll tell you what. What a time.
Now wait a minute, wait a minute. Here’s the thing:
I didn’t know where I came from or who I am. Still don’t.
But you know, what are you gonna do? Sometimes you just gotta whip out the ol’ saxophone and keep on keepin on you know. Whitewater? Never heard of it.
Way back then before I was President of the good ole U. S. of A., my days mainly consisted of:
- Bein’ in the dark and bein’ scared
- A deep tunnel with no light at the end
- Bein’ trapped in my infinity stew of endless knowledge (very wet)
- And that’s about it
I didn’t know what was goin’ on, but I had to do somethin’ about it quick! I couldn’t just sit there blind and wet forever. I had to do like my daddy taught me and use my primordial knowledge prism to make something of myself.
The King and I
Right, there was this king. Met him down at this happenin’ joint called the Puke Pit. The king had one heck of a craving for my knowledge.
He would shave my entire body and make me roll up in a little ball and say things like, “I am slaveboy. Boy is my slave. I am boy. Slaves are myself. Slave is knowledge.” But sometimes all you can do is laugh, ya know?
What made it worse was when he tied me up and dipped me in pickle juice every time I came to visit. I got realll pickly. I was like a pickled little turkey in some tight, sexy little plastic wrap in the back of the fridge. Man those were some weird times.
Anyway, eventually Haalroxablachablal came and rescued me from my pickle prison, and the King realized that my knowledge stew wasn’t all that bad. From then on I advised him pretty good. Pretty damn good….
One time I was down there with the king just slappin’ a couple big ole pieces a beef together (you know, for the kids) and it kept makin’ this real cool noise. I kept doin’ it and everybody was so happy. Eventually I just decided to name myself after the beef slappin’ sound. That’s how I got to be called “Bill Clinton”.
The Creation of Bill Clinton
So when I created myself, it basically went like this. I was deep down in the plasma zone and it was just time for a change ya know? You would not believe how stuffy it gets down there. Like a scorchin’ wet Louisiana mud dog in a water heater on the fourth of Ju-ly! I’m talkin hot! So I went ahead and said the creation prayer I learned as a kid:
Deep Unknown: send us a messenger.
Me: This is my child.
Eternal Void: growing stronger.
Me: This is myself.
Mindless Creatures: it is true.
Me: Come to me, my child.
Unsolved Mysteries: willing it to be.
Me: I am alive.
The Heartsoul of All Mankind: he has arrived.
Me: I am Bill Clinton.
Gettin’ Down to Business
So down in Arkansas there are these real nasty sloppy swamp monsters. They’re real big and they’ll getcha if you’re not careful. Once I was created I had to deal with stuff like swamp monsters, and also Congress.
So I was down in the dark in Arkansas just workin my hip thrusters when I bumped into somebody else doin the same thing. We kinda thought it was weird for a minute when I realized wait a minute, I know this guy. This is Al Gore, my lifelong friend and greatest personal nemesis. That crazy son of a bitch.
From then on we were inseparable, from the secret slop club at the tippy top of the Washington Monument to the deepest, darkest cajun voodoo pits in bourbon street New Orleans! One time man, we got in deep with a witch doctor who said Bill, man, if you don’t cut open Al Gore with this rusty, cursed bone saw then you’ll have to go back to your primordial form and you’ll never be able to play the saxophone again. AlGore looked right at me and.. I’ll never forget this.. He said Bill, I’ve known you since you were born and I’ll feel the plasma drips in my drop box when you die. You’re my eternal master and my body is yours to cherish or destroy. That’s when I knew he would be my veep. Ride or die.
Hillary
In my mind there are five elements of a great assassin-wife. Hillary has got ‘em all! Her blades are sharper than the mind of a Transvestite eagle hawk. Her ass is like a sabre-toothed tiger just ready to pounce and eat ya up. Her mind is more poisonous than the Acid Attack Frog native to the Pacific coast of Colomebia. Those three are good, and there are two others that are good, too.
I’ll tell you what though man, everybody who’s seen Hillary has suffered, and then died. I’m serious about that. It’s kinda been a problem.
Alright well that's it for now I guess. Thanks, and God bless America.
