Late last week, the respectable media was shocked, shocked to discover that Donald Trump is a horndog of almost the same caliber as his golf buddy Bill Clinton.
One advantage of being old is that current events become more amusing the more of the past you’ve endured. For example, the sanctimony of Hillary’s run for the White House seems less humorless if you can remember the last Clinton presidency.
The life of the more entertaining Clinton demonstrates that as long as he nods respectfully while Hillary discourses, and then tells her that she’s the real political superstar in the family and that it’s only sexism that has held her back, Bill can partake of the same life of money, power, fame, babes, and golf that Trump has enjoyed.
When Clinton left office in 2001, he was blackballed from joining the prestigious old-money country clubs of Westchester County, in part due to his notorious sexual history and vulgar on-course repartee. In a 1998 article on Vernon Jordan, Bill’s “fixer-without-portfolio,” Newsweekreported:
Jordan first met Clinton during the lawyer’s days at the Urban League. Southerners who love to work a room, both men love to eat, golf, tell stories—and flirt with women. Their mutual fondness for the ladies is a frequent, if crude, topic of conversation. Asked at a party earlier this year what it was he and Clinton talk about on the golf course, Jordan slyly replied: “We talk pu—y.”
So, Bill joined Trump’s nouveau riche golf club with the artificial waterfall, where, as far as I can tell, he’s still a member.