Find This Man A Job!
   Ike had his farm at Gettysburg.  LBJ had his digs on the Perdenales River.  Jimmy Carter has always had Plains.  What does William Jefferson Clinton have to look forward to when he leaves office (fingers crossed) in January, 2001?

   Oh, where ever shall he go?  What ever shall he do?  Is his future to be lonely nights on the couch in the rec room in Chappaqua?  A swingin' bachelor pad in sizzling Little Rock?  Or maybe three hots and a cot at the Gray Bar Hotel?

   I care about what happens to our soon to be (fingers crossed) Ex-SkankInChief.  I feel his pain.  Bill is my age.  He's still got a lot of tread left.  The "astroturf" in the 4 X 4 is barely broken in.  I know that if I were about to retire (fingers crossed) with a nice pension that I wouldn't be content to just sit around watching "Golden Girls" reruns and lusting after Bea Arthur.  I'd try to find some useful and satisfying work.

   Alas, Bill has no family estate to tend to.  He's been at the public nipple all his adult life.  Perhaps some of his old snarking buddies could buy him a few acres so he could retire as a "Gentleman Farmer" and grow something or other.  Or at least spend his days making nervous every wool-bearing mammal within a day's drive.

   Bill is apt to be disbarred soon, so scratch any ideas of a lucrative law practice.  Any time he spends in a courtroom may be while sitting at the Defense table trying to make eye contact with any blondes in the room.   He really has no discernable job skills, especially in light of the recent toughening up of workplace harassment laws.

   I'm truly concerned that one day soon (fingers crossed) I may pull up at a red light and see Bill standing there holding up a sign reading "Will be Ex-President For Food".

   What will this man (fingers crossed) do for the next 20 years or so?  How will he fill his days?    I suppose he could follow the lovely Monica over to Jenny Craig's place, but that would require eschewing the Super Sized Value Meals at Mickey D's.

   Sally Struthers has pretty much retired from those Home Study ads.  Maybe Bill could step in.

   "Learn saxophone repair at home!"

   Perhaps Bill could take his musical talents and turn pro.  But, having heard him play, I fear his career might top out at jammin' the National Anthem at cockfights.  If he played the accordian he could, at least, get some gigs at weddings.

   Of course, being the well-educated scion of the South that he is, Bill may have any number of offers slithering his way.  But, at how many "Hooters" openings can one man speak?

   Maybe Bill can follow Michael Jordan into the realm of the megabucks product pitchman.  After all, the late-night infomercial and Bill are twins separated at birth.

   "But wait!  There's more!  Order my 'Oh, Mr. President! Blue Velvet Oval Office Humidor' in the next 22 minutes and I'll throw in a selection of Top Secret ICBM launch codes at no extra charge!"

   There has even been talk that, after leaving Washington (fingers crossed), Bill actually may go to Hollywood.

   Getting into "Show Biz" might be just the ticket stub for Bill.  I, however, don't relish the idea of seeing a 30-foot tall projection of Bill's head up on the silver screen, that bulbous red nose thrusting out at me like some onrushing locomotive.  Although, in a tight close-up, we could possibly get a peek at his deviated septum and maybe at those scalp roots that seem to change color faster than Michael Jackson.

   Despite my disagreements with Bill's policies over the years I really, really, really want him to find a good job.  The man has been siphoning money from the pockets of Americans for decades.  Now, at last, he has an opportunity to take the log ride into reality and actually give something in return for an honest paycheck.

   There are nights when, in my dreams, Bill appears before me as a taxpaying, deduction cursing, W-2 form losing member of the workforce, and he asks me that most All-American of questions: "You want fries with that?"