The GOP obsession with Bill Clinton’s sex life

Above: Bill Clinton, the Teflon horn dog by Christopher Cobblewright 

Republicans are still blowing their load over Bill’s blowjob

by Dell Franklin

They’re at it again, this time comparing him to comedian and one-time black role-model Bill Cosby, accused as a sexual predator who doped up young women and underage girls, stripped and molested them in their blacked-out state, as alleged by about fifty of his victims. They’re on the warpath again, still pissed off that the other Bill, Bill Clinton, had the audacity to allow a horny little star-struck intern infatuated with power to give him a blowjob.

“Shame on you, Bill, you awful sexual degenerate.”

Even more hideous, Bill took this poor unsuspecting innocent to the LINCOLN ROOM! Of all the nerve! But where else could a man with as high a profile as President William Jefferson Clinton take a plump horn-dog in heat for a little organ hounding—Motel 6? Certainly not the Marriott or Hilton or the Four Seasons. He was already in enough trouble for taking up with hussies like Paula Jones and Gennifer Flowers, a tough one to resist, that one.

I admire a man with a healthy sex drive, as long as he’s not trying to steal my woman or committing rape. Unlike some of our past Presidents, like Nixon, Reagan, Carter and probably would-be President Romney, I don’t think Bill slept in his pajamas, unless Hillary was beside him. Bill’s a cad. As a bartender, I’ve observed men like Clinton, with the gleam in their eyes and the smooth gift of gab that reels in the ladies, irresistible sexual magnets we as fellow men all admire and at the same time envy—by men like Nixon who probably got laid by one woman his entire life (and had to beg for that) and then had to witness JFK poking everything that walked, the lecherous rascal, turning the White House into his own private brothel.

Typical goddamn liberal Democrat, ey?

So those sexually repressed puritanical Republicans, who as a collective agency profess to worship the Lord and marry one woman for life and never stray, are dredging up Bill’s blowjob again and acquainting it with sexual predator status, the flavor of today. The party of deeply religious closet gays in Congress pawing up pages and molesting teenage members of a wrestling team and hanging out in bathroom stalls at airports (all tight-assed against gay marriage, mind you) and senators paying for prostitutes is at it again, led by the thrice-married Donald Trump, trying to drag poor old Hillary Clinton down for being married to perhaps the most sexually active man to ever live in the White House and seldom screw his own wife.

Typical goddamn liberal Democrat, ey?

Christ, Hillary didn’t marry Bill for his dick, she’s too sophisticated and savvy a woman—she married him for his brains, charm, humanity and ambition, not to mention he’s just about the most charismatic rake to ever come down the pike.

Trump’s no one to talk, tossing off one wife after another for younger flesh. The Donald, who has stated he likes sex with ladies rather than drink booze, is suddenly a sanitized sentinel of high moral ground as he joins fellow members of the saints’ party to demonize the First Lady who put up with his ongoing adultery, even accusing her of enabling his dastardliness.

Christ, she didn’t marry him for his dick, she’s too sophisticated and savvy a woman—she married him for his brains, charm, humanity and ambition, not to mention he’s just about the most charismatic rake to ever come down the pike.

The trouble with most of these Republicans holding office, the same ones who tried to impeach Bill for lying about his adultery when everybody knows you lie until caught when it comes to cheating, is that, from grammar school onward, they were too busy being ambitious as well as perfect while Bill was getting laid in many different forms, realizing early on nothing compares with indecent sport-fucking of the forbidden fruit, and especially painted floozies like Paula Jones. (Just ask rogue writers Henry Miller and Charles Bukowski).

Poor paranoid prude Richard Nixon, who accompanied his wife on a first date as a hanger-on while another man squired Pat, and Carter, who admitted looking at young shapely pussy, swallowed hard, denied his prick, and kissed Rosalynn on the cheek and showed us his cheesy saved smile while Jesus forgave him for having naughty fantasies. Reagan, of course, must have gotten plenty in those Hollywood days when he wasn’t fingering so-called communists and turning them in, and could hardly pose as pious when he married an ex-actress who tried unsuccessfully to fuck every movie mogul in town to become a star, and failed, but ended up as a White House First Lady urging young people to be strong and celibate in fear of disease while she steered Ronnie around like a somnambulist.

Currently Rand Paul’s wife, Kelley, a kind of vivacious winsome blonde, is on cable TV attacking Bill, claiming it will be hard for Hillary to be a candidate espousing women’s rights when her husband’s a sexual predator. Well, when one is married to a pantywaist like Rand one could hardly distinguish between a predator and a playboy, the latter of which she’s badly in need of. Like all the blonde reptiles after his hide, from Ann Coulter to Megyn Kelly, Bill’s going to stick in their craws until the bitter end, especially when Hillary gets elected President, gag gag.

Thing is, what will they say when their worst nightmare occurs and Hillary’s in the White House and Bill’s First Man? God forbid she goes on a foreign policy trip to meet with Merkel and Putin if they’re still around and Bill’s on his own in the Lincoln Room, the old coot well into his seventies but still highly suspect of sleazing after 20-year-old interns, if, of course, Hillary allows young succulent babes on the premises. My guess is her advisers will insist she hire all young male Ivy League twerps to keep an eye on him.

I can still see the outrage after rumor of Bill’s first suspicious act of indecency—“He’s at it again! He’s committing fellatio with interns, the rotten no-good sexual predator, he’s soiling the sheets in the Lincoln Room! The sneaky depraved cheat just can’t get enough, and he’s an old man!”

In gyms and marketplaces and bowling alleys and post offices and hair salons and coffee houses and diners and meeting places, media centers all over America will issue an eerie bereaved chant—“He’s at it again, he’s at it again, we can’t get rid of him, we can’t get rid of him…he’s getting blowjobs, he’s getting blowjobs….”

Eat your hearts out, pencil-necks! §

Dell Franklin writes from his home in Cayucos, Calif., where he lives with his rescue dog Wilbur, a disturbed chocolate lab who will bite your head off if you say another word about Bill Clinton’s blowjob. Dell maintains an online presence at

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