Will the Real Slick Willie Please Stand Up?

 (By Cyril Blubberpuss, Conservative-American)

Well, the Department of Justice has finally made their legal-ish release of some of the Epstein files, so let the liberal pinheads who read this septic tank of a blog make hay over that! As Abigail Jackson said, this is the most transparent administration in history and as is well known, the president welcomes any chance to expose himself.

     There are virtually no pictures of the president and, as for the one that did slip out, our sharp-eyed Justice Department took care of that immediately. Come on, don't look at me like that! It was a picture of a picture, which we all know is inadmissible in a court of law. And just because over 500 documents were completely blacked out, it doesn't mean they referenced the man who'd fought tooth and nail to prevent them from getting out.

    Instead, we ought to focus on what we are allowed to see by Pam Bondi and Todd Blanche: Slick Willie! Yes, There are several photos of Bill Clinton innocently standing next to Jeffrey Epstein. Yes, President Clinton never went to Epstein's Little St. Thomas Island nor has a single woman accused him of any impropriety. But we all know sexual assault victims are very hesitant to bring charges against presidents for fear of reprisals. Hell, Katie Johnson can tell you all about that!

    So, that's the president you ought to be looking at and, thanks to Bondi and Blanche, the human memory holes, we get to see Slick Willie in all his glory, fully clothed, conducting Clinton Foundation business and often in the company of just men and never underage girls.

     Oh, he is a slick one, all right!

     

    The one thing I didn't appreciate was the DoJ releasing photos of my beloved baby brother, Cecil. My younger sibling just wanted to see the sights. Little St. Thomas had a rejuvenating effect on him and he felt like a kid again, as evidenced by him in his tightie whities chasing Epstein's cabana boys in spirited games of hide and seek and having slap fights with Michael Jackson over who got to put sun tan lotion on their favorite ones.

    In fact, during my one visit to Epstein's Island in 2016, in which I was honored with a mask in my likeness in his strange dentist's office, I remember seeing a morbidly obese man who looked surprisingly like President Trump but definitely wasn't who was hiding his face and screaming at his Secret Service detail, "Get me out of here, you fat fucks!"

    Word in MAGA World has it that it was a body double, perhaps that Spanish potato farmer who shares an eerie but enviable resemblance to President Trump.

    And, lest you accuse the DoJ of being less than forthcoming,  Deputy Attorney General Todd Blanche has promised the release of even more documents in the weeks to come. Serialized transparency! What more could you want?

     

    All things considered in light of the DoJ's injudiciousness in releasing those misleading photos of my brother, I'm very glad I never gave in to my daughter Bertha's pleas to take her to Epstein's Island. She's already watched her favorite show, the only season of Lady Ice Road Truckers of Alaska, at least 12 times. She wanted to go to Little St. Thomas to bond with those young female models brought over by Brunel.

     But she did slip out one night and broke into Epstein's Manhattan townhouse, hoping to see some young ladies there. She would've gotten away with it if she hadn't gotten on that swing that was bolted to the ceiling, which then gave way under her weight, reducing a Louis XVI table to splinters. What can I say? My baby, as with my kid brother, is still very much a child at heart.