Taki's Mag

Bill Clinton

Saturday night I watched Bill Clinton give himself a blowjob for four hours, and it wasn’t pretty.

From roughly 10:13PM to 2:05AM Eastern Standard Time, I passively and resentfully endured a shamelessly self-congratulatory spectacle dubbed “A Decade of Difference: A Concert Celebrating 10 Years of the William J. Clinton Foundation” livestreamed on my computer. By the end, I knew that if Bill Clinton truly understood anything about being charitable, this concert would not have lasted more than ten minutes.

On this special evening at the Hollywood Bowl, Bill Clinton opened his heart to the world to show them how big it is. For four hours, the famously horny ex-president invited the world to thank him for helping the world and to beseech their help so he can continue helping them. He was clearly glad—nay, eager—to let the world know how aggressively charitable he’s been in the decade or so since he relinquished the presidency. He hasn’t exactly frittered away the last ten years—au contraire, he’s been running around the globe and empowering the SHIT out of people! Mr. Clinton, flanked by Hillary and Chelsea, sat beaming in the audience, celebrating this celebration of himself and marinating in his own goodness to the point where it appeared to give him a mild case of rosacea. For the duration of a live musical event that lasted a full forty minutes longer than the film Gandhi, we learned what a charitable, loving, wonderful man Bill Clinton is—not merely a good man, but a great, great, great, great, GREAT man—and don’t you dare forget it!

The $1,000-a-seat concert was a star-spackled event. The cool night air sparkled with human beings being humanitarian, gathering together to celebrate the founding of Clinton’s foundation, or to put it more succinctly, Clinton’s foundation’s founding. Ashton Kutcher was there, as inarticulate as ever. Professional full-time lesbian Ellen DeGeneres mumbled something about how Bill and Hillary have made the world a better place.

Surprise opening guest Stevie Wonder sang his blind ass off and did that thing where he shakes his head back and forth, causing his balding dreadlocks to sway along with the beat. Neo-C&W singer Kenny Chesney, through his body language alone, spent his entire set trying to deny that he’s gay. For one song, he trotted out a girl singer in a failed attempt to prove he’s a heterosexual. I may have heard a lyric about a crawdad at one point. A Muslim Somalian singer/rapper who looks like Michael Jackson after a crack binge named K’naan performed, and if there’s anything America needs, it’s more of those. Abdominally gifted singer Usher accidentally ripped his pants and joked to the audience about how he works “hard.” Lady Gaga and her dozens of gay dancers sang that song about how she was born that way, when she plainly wasn’t born that way and is obviously lying. Righteous Irish rodent Bono from U2 and his guitarist The Edge inflicted an unforgivably pious acoustic set upon the world. I’d estimate I slept through at least 10 minutes of it, and I’m a better man for it.

Through all four hours, Bill, Hillary, and Chelsea seemed stubbornly determined to prove that no one in their family has any rhythm.

Toni Morrison dubbed Bill Clinton the “first black president,” so I guess it follows that he is also the first black ex-president. This may partially explain the gross ostentatiousness of Saturday night’s event, reeking as it did with a level of cheesy self-importance one might expect from Diddy or LeBron James.

So…why a concert? Exactly what “difference” has Bill Clinton’s tax-exempt foundation made in the past decade, and why do we need to be singing about it? On a red-carpet event before the concert, Colombian actress Sofia Vergara tried explaining:

I think, you know, when somebody is as popular as him, and he, you know, has the power to bring so many people together, to bring these names, to bring people that can, you know, really, you know, make a difference [laughs]. It’s amazing, it’s amazing that he’s doing all this work.

Amazing indeed. Actress Felicity Huffman gushed that Bill Clinton had introduced the world to “a whole new level of philanthropy on a systemic level,” and the universe will forever remain uncertain that she had any idea what she meant. Actress Maria Bello—and who knows more about politics than actors and actresses?—claimed that Bill Clinton had “empowered” sixteen million women around the world, and if the rumors I’ve heard about the notorious womanizer are true, she may be lowballing that figure. Actor Jason Segel summarized the William J. Clinton Foundation thusly: “Quite simply, it’s an organization that’s committed to doing what’s right.”

In other words, not one of you thespians, lesbians, and lesbian thespians has any idea what to say unless someone’s writing your lines for you.

Toward the concert’s end, Mr. Clinton—seeming a little drunk—and his daughter Chelsea walked onstage. If he wasn’t drunk, I can’t comprehend why a grown man in full possession of his senses would utter the following line:

Nobody ever climbs any ladder alone.

Mr. Clinton, sir? I’ve climbed at least two dozen ladders in my life, and every time, I did it alone. In fact, the more people you add to the ladder, I’d imagine the more difficult climbing it would be.

There is one thing I admire about Bill Clinton, and that is the fact that he has been consistently unfaithful to Hillary. Who in their right mind could put up with her? Bill’s blatant infidelities are the most humanizing thing about him. If he wants to exhibit his sharply curved, average-sized penis to women in Arkansas hotel rooms and plop a cigar or two inside an intern’s vagina, it’s none of my damned business so long as he’s causing suffering and distress to Hillary Clinton. And receiving oral pleasure while on the phone with Congress? Coolest thing I’ve ever heard a politician do.

But that doesn’t outweigh the fact that he’s one of the biggest socket wrenches in the globalists’ toolbox. He utters the word “global” as much as Eazy-E used to say “nigga.” Saturday night’s concert was littered with jargon about how “we’re all citizens of this world” and we need to “put a human face on the global economy” and how we need “peace without borders” and how globalism is coming whether we like it or not, so we better bend over and get used to it. Beneath all the gloss about humanism and empowerment and uplift and economic equality was a rigid subtext about us all being together and living together and sharing together and macro-managed together and squashed into a situation where we can never not be together ever again. First it’s our “common identity,” then it’s our common ID cards.

William Jefferson Clinton signed NAFTA—perhaps the biggest single blow to the American middle and working classes in the past generation—into law. He bears partial blame for the subprime mortgage scandal. When he left office, he left every American man, woman, and child nearly $5,500 deeper in debt than they were the day he took office. Then there’s Whitewater and Vince Foster and Chinagate and impeachment and perjury and disbarment and dead witnesses and multiple suicides.

So along comes Bill Clinton to remind the world that he hangs out with HIV-positive kids at Cambodian orphanages and wants to prevent tobacco-related deaths in sub-Saharan Africa and how he helped small businesses in Harlem and really hates malaria and spends sleepless nights crying about Haiti’s plight.

Pardon me, but I don’t think I have a dog in this here fight.

How does the average American benefit from his excessive bursts of philanthropy? During the other night’s concert, I don’t remember anyone making a peep about the average American, nor so much as acknowledging that such a species exists.

For the 2007 tax year, the William J. Clinton Foundation took in around $130 million, over a third of which came from government grants. So not only does the average non-cosmopolitan American taxpayer likely not benefit from his organization, they’re actually being forced to pay part of the bill for him to indulge his narcissistic messiah fantasies on his dusky, exotic, starving AIDS pets halfway around the globe.

Bubba, I realize you insist on stroking yourself, but I’m going to have to demand you do it on your own dime.