Sunday, October 23, 2011

Bill Clinton Shoots Off His (Mouth); Makes A Big Mess...

Jim Goad does a hysterical take-down of Bill Clinton's four hour festival of auto-erotica, aka: "A Decade of Difference: A Concert Celebrating 10 Years of the William J. Clinton Foundation”. God bless that man -Goad, I mean - for siting thru four hours of that crap in order to report it to us...

Goad has some astute observations, which I'll excerpt later, but there is one line that Wet Willie uttered that, unfortunately, must be given greater scrutiny:

Nobody ever climbs any ladder alone.

Ah...actually, climbing a ladder anyway but alone is perilous and dumb, in a Three Stooges-type of way. Imagine climbing a tall ladder, then adding a safety inspector, a health care advisor, a few bureaucrats, and a "rung tax collector" from the IRS. You'd crash to the ground in a bloody heap before you made it halfway up. At which point Bill Clinton would tell you the problem is that you needed more help on that ladder. "It takes a Village", his wife would intone from the sideline, as Bill nods sagely....

One of the great truisms of The Foutainhead (a Rand classic that is getting overshadowed by Atlas Shrugged but is equally applicable in our day and age) is that people work better alone than they do in in groups. The novel's protagonist, Howard Roark, steadfastly refused to join any "design committee", and when examining the work of group-think, collaborative, projects, noted that all them men had done better work alone than they had been able to produce as a "team".

Which could be why our economy, and our American ideal, is struggling. To many carpetbaggers trying to get a piece of what they cannot produce, even if it is just some ancillary credit, or a undeserved rake off.

Maybe - in honor of Bill Clinton's wisdom - the Tea Party mantra should be "Get off my ladder"...




Addendum:  More commentary from Goad on the self-indulgent tripe at the Concert for Clinton's Ego. Personally, I recommend you read it all...


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....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...



Gaga and Wet Willie: Peas in a pod...

 But that doesn’t outweigh the fact that he’s [Clinton] 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.



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.




This one stands on its own...

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