The Best Piece On the Clinton Birthday Bash...
A Fete Too Far
by John Burtis
Shockingly, the hoi polloi have been allowed to buy tickets to Bill Clinton's final Sunday bazaar, private love fest, rock concert, birthday party, and may enter the show after wiping their shoes.
Mick Jagger has been suffering from a sore throat of late and may not be able to holler Bill's favorite answer to any psychiatrist's question, "I can't get no satisfaction."
And even the New York City cops, who soak up overtime like nobody's business, are said to be listless in the face of yet another Clinton birthday banquet. Many are said to be fatigued at appearing with those omnipresent gifts -- the t-shirts and sweatshirts and little badges with which Mr. Clinton loves to manfully attire himself when entertaining at home.
It is also reported that many officers suffer from perpetual red eye and a painful rictus from smiling in the group shots with that overly efficacious law and order zealot and violent felon coddling junior senator from New York, who sometimes escorts the winsome intern besotted former President.
The $500,000 dollar special party tickets, which net reasonably priced color photos with the Big He during an intense three-day series of his complicated, albeit daffy and self serving mulligan explanations on the links, endless cocktail party singalongs featuring the Whiffenpoof Song and the banned verses to the Internationale, and sweaty evening photo ops in the finest of personally provided tuxedoes, have been selling at a rather imperceptible pace this time around.
Some of the big ticket buyers draped in the Arpege baubles are said to be grumbling because the alligator shirt, acid washed jeans, whale belt, and Gucci loafer crowd will be occupying the same brand of top end seats they are, for just 34/10,000 of their cost.
Imagine the cheek, the rapidity of the sell off, and depth of the discounts necessary to pack the back benches for Keith, Charlie, and Ron, to say nothing of Bill and Hillary, in order to make it look Razorback good.
But, of course, Martin Scorsese will be on hand filming the Clintons, or is it the Stones, or is it Sandy Berger? The latter proud parolee, it is said, will be sporting black ribbed sox for the affair, should any of the band members' memorabilia blow by in a delicate draft, warranting a quick purloining, an associated hosiery ballooning, and a quick explanation of elephantiasis to security with a ready cane and a shuffling gait.
And the Daily Mail says that Mr. Scorsese is having a few difficulties deciding where to put the cameras, that a spokesman for the Rolling Stones said that the great unwashed were always invited to this chic, invitation only private bash for the world's most demanding living narcissist and his shy and retiring wife. And lastly, the press spokesman for Mr. Clinton wisely had no comment about a thing, believing that a job on Monday was far better than a quick stab at the truth of the matter before the concert began.
But as the common folk mingle with the fat cats, as the rich recoil with distaste, as Bill makes himself scarce and Hillary more so, while his long, tawdry seemingly endless series of self-promotional 60th "birthday" parties finally winds down, I've got to ask a few questions.
Bill have you maybe had a party or two too many? I mean, for Pete's sake, how far can you finally stretch this batch of me, me, me luaus?
Sure you're a pretty popular dude with the progressives, the left wing, the socialists, the Muslims in Serbia, and the Soros crowd and their 527s, and you did win the Presidency as a Democrat.
But, on the negative side, you made a few gaffes. You really did. You could've been a great one but you threw it all away out of pure laziness, with the remainder of your talent sacrificed on the altar of cheap aphrodisia.
Look, by now even the rinky-dink professional cheerleading hacks are wearing out carrying your water for the limitless number of these fancy pants parties. The "do anything that you want crowd" on TV are just about out of hagiographical terms to drape you in, and that's pretty good for a guy who never won a majority of the votes in two national elections and who finally took a dive for perjury, even if you are peddling your own charity, and shaking folks down for a library in Arkansas.
The excessive panegyrics and the obsequious blandishments which are routinely employed to describe your every activity, thought, hope, and well made up traveling consort, are wearing thin after years of continual employment every time your name is mentioned or your graying frontispiece appears.
Bill, you've worked hard having fun finally turning 60. Now it's time to take a vacation and a powder. Even Mick Jagger, has a sore throat. And you've got a bad ticker. Relax. You've had a good run. Get ready to vote.
The country needs a break from the overwhelming Clinton need for praise, love, publicity, and legacy burnishment. But you won't. You'll never go a fete too far.