The Castration of Bill Clinton

Hillary Clinton’s presidential campaign has rested in part on the goodwill her husband built up when he was in office. Unfortunately, Bill Clinton is a gelded ghost of the man he once was.

If America is the new Rome, Bill Clinton is our Caligula, one of the most evil, psychopathic men to ever hold public office. Clinton won the presidency in 1992 by pretending to be a moderate “New Democrat,” hiding his Marxism with a Southern accent and a patina of “tough-on-crime” soundbites. The fact that Americans still remember his presidency with anything resembling fondness is thanks to the mainstream media acting as the unpaid PR division of the Democratic party.

In his eight years as president, Clinton dismantled the military, murdered women and children in the Waco siege by burning them alive, ethnically cleansed Serbs from Kosovo, and tried to strip Americans of their right to own firearms. It was Clinton who engineered NAFTA, which singlehandedly destroyed the American middle class by shipping their jobs en masse to Mexico. He and his wife very nearly inflicted socialized medicine on the nation, and probably would have gotten away with it were it not for the Republicans seizing control of Congress in 1994.

Bill Clinton’s private life is just as repellent as his public record. A possible serial rapist and habitual liar, his horndog ways were the result of his dweeby childhood. As a fat nerd raised by a slutty single mom in rural Arkansas, Clinton spent his formative years as a social pariah, stewing in misery and isolation. His constant affairs with trashy women – and the long list of sexual assaults Hillary helped him cover up – were the acts of a narcissist taking that which he felt he was rightfully owed.

Now, Slick Willie is preparing to return to the White House, not as President, but as First Spouse. Unfortunately, Hillary Clinton’s campaign rests on an uneasy balance regarding hubby Bill. She needs him for the same reason Imelda needed Ferdinand: without Clinton’s name and prestige, Hillary would just be another sexually frustrated lesbian working in middle management. On the other hand, the Leftward lurch of American politics requires Hillary to avoid discussing Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell and the other insufficiently progressive hallmarks of her husband’s administration.

I recently attended a Bill Clinton speech at Beth Emet, the Free Synagogue in the Chicago suburb of Evanston, and the experience did something I never thought possible: it made me feel sorry for him. While Hillary Clinton is a Potemkin candidate on the verge of death, Bill is an utterly broken man, a court eunuch reduced to making funny faces to entertain an angry and hormonal queen. I’ve seen him in person before, specifically at Hillary’s Iowa victory party last month, but it took watching him speak to realize how far he’s fallen.

I arrived at Beth Emet an hour before the doors were slated to open, the unusually warm weather making my wait pleasant. The crowd was disproportionately Jewish, with a number of goys and a smattering of minorities filling out the ranks. Behind me, a tweedy hipster was explaining to his clueless English girlfriend who John Kasich and Marco Rubio were; in front of me, a fat midget in zebra-colored yoga pants was telling a WBBM reporter how “horrified” she was by Donald Trump’s rise.

The synagogue let us in at 9:30 on the dot, and unusually, we weren’t forced to go through a metal detector and a Secret Service frisking like the previous Hillary events I’d attended. Inside, the collected body odor of the audience merged to form a Voltron of stink. My nose, which I thought would preemptively stuff up in the presence of unwashed Leftoids, had failed me.

Bill Clinton was introduced by Evanston Mayor Elizabeth Tisdahl, a dried-out dyke with a nauseating voice, and shrieking yenta Congresswoman Jan Schakowsky. In a marked departure from the Iowa Hillary rallies I attended, not only was the crowd fired up and optimistic, but both Tisdahl and Schakowsky made open attacks on Bernie Sanders, criticizing him for his supposed opposition to gun control.

I had to stifle a laugh when Tisdahl lamented the fact that one to six people were murdered by gun violence in Evanston every year. Bitch, I live in Chiraq. We’d kill (okay, not really) to have a gun death rate that low. Schakowsky also dropped one of the funniest boners I’ve ever heard at a political rally: she described Hillary Clinton as “the most qualified presidential candidate since George Washington.”

But when Slick Willie took the stage, all my mirth drained out like pus from a boil. Watch the video I recorded below and tell me what’s wrong with Bill Clinton:

What happened to him? Clinton looks and sounds like he’s contracted some kind of horrifying terminal disease. Beyond having the physique of an Auschwitz survivor, his voice was so raspy and creaky I could barely hear him at points. However, the freakiest aspect of Clinton’s appearance was what looked like an AIDS lesion on his forehead, which he’d tried to cover up with pancake makeup.

Worse than Clinton’s terrifyingly poor health was his defeated, broken demeanor. When Toni Morrison described him as the “first Black president,” I’m sure she wasn’t comparing him to an African tribesman who’d been beaten, starved, and stuck on a slave ship. Clinton listlessly led the crowd through a series of attacks on the GOP and limp arguments as to why his wife should become the next President, but it’s clear that his heart wasn’t in it.

It’s clear why Clinton looks and acts like he has to be threatened at gunpoint to stump for Hillary: her campaign puts him in an incredibly emasculating position. Ever since he left office, she’s put a damper on his philandering ways in order to bolster her own career, and should she win the election, he’ll effectively be Mr. Mom. With increasing evidence that Hillary cucked Bill – Webb Hubbell may be Chelsea Clinton’s real father – Slick Willie is running out of reasons to wake up in the morning. The confident, swaggering, adulterous Clinton we all knew and loathed is dead.

And between his unenthusiastic stumping and ghastly health, I suspect Clinton secretly wants his wife to lose. Clinton’s worth to the Hillary campaign is directly correlated with how well he shuts his yap and stays on the plantation. As a narcissist and a psychopath, Slick Willie derives pleasure from other peoples’ misery; sabotaging his wife’s candidacy for a second time would be the ultimate rush for him.

As it stands, Bill Clinton’s Dorian Grey-esque fall from grace is the perfect punishment for one of the worst presidents this country has ever had. I have no doubt that every night, Clinton looks at himself in the mirror, cursing his physical deterioration and the fact that his wife keeps his balls in Huma’s fanny pack. I look forward to watching Hillary and him get steamrolled by the Trump Train.
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