Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve heard of the “Clinton Body Count,” right? That’s the list that the craziest of the crazy right-wing bloggers started keeping of all the people the Clintons had murdered, either because they stood between him and the White House, or to cover up scandals during his terms as Governor and President. Well, it turns out I’m on it, Richard Winters, partway down the page.
Yes, that’s right. In case you don’t want to check the link, here’s the story: you see, there were these two guys named Kevin Ives and Don Henry. They stumbled onto some drug-running operation masterminded by the Clintons, but before they could talk, they were killed by a train on August 23, 1987. Except, it turns out, they were killed first and then their bodies were placed on the tracks. Which, I gotta say, doesn’t seem like the best way to commit a murder to me. I mean, it seems a little clumsy and haphazard, plus pretty damned pointless. And my opinion counts in this, because apparently I’m the guy who killed them!
And then a whole bunch of people “had information” on those murders (when you’re dragging two bodies along a train track, you’re gonna get noticed, even in Arkansas), so I killed them, too, one by one. And it really was a WHOLE BUNCH of people. I’m not sure how none of them managed to fill out a police report or talk to the press before I got to them, but hey, I guess luck was on my side while I was hunting them down over the next two years.
My favorite was James Milam. I decapitated him, but arranged the crime scene in such an expert way that the coroner ruled he died of natural causes. I wish I could disclose how I did that; suffice it to say that I’m The Man, and that The Man got mad skillz. There was Keith Coney, who died in a motorcycle “accident” (there were “unconfirmed reports” of a high-speed car chase…I’ll admit, that bit does sound like me). There was Jeff Rhodes, who was tortured, mutilated, shot in the head, put in a dumpster, and set on fire (yikes! like I have that much energy). There were other boring ones, too, shotgun blasts and stabbings that I won’t bother going into.
And then I was myself killed in a “robbery” in July of 1989, only of course it wasn’t really a robbery, it was an assassination made to look like a random crime. I guess I’d asked for a little hush money from the Clintons, so they had to silence me for good; or maybe they were wondering how, even after I’d killed a half-dozen or so potential witnesses, there were still so many people who “had information” on the Ives/Henry murders. I mean, hell, they still had another five or six of ‘em to bump off after I was gone! (Incidentally, they managed to kill one person via a bout of viral pneumonia; man, their skillz are even madder than mine!)
I am very distressed to learn that I’ve been dead for the last 19 years. I’m wondering why death hasn’t saved me from suffering through, for instance, the death of my father, or the end of my relationship with Bonnie, or seven-plus years of being ruled by a mendacious, war-mongering sociopath. Where’s my goddamned sweet oblivion?
On the plus side, I suppose this means that I can drink and smoke all I want, and eat lots of fatty foods.
Oh, yeah, and vote Obama. He doesn’t have a list yet.
Yes, that’s right. In case you don’t want to check the link, here’s the story: you see, there were these two guys named Kevin Ives and Don Henry. They stumbled onto some drug-running operation masterminded by the Clintons, but before they could talk, they were killed by a train on August 23, 1987. Except, it turns out, they were killed first and then their bodies were placed on the tracks. Which, I gotta say, doesn’t seem like the best way to commit a murder to me. I mean, it seems a little clumsy and haphazard, plus pretty damned pointless. And my opinion counts in this, because apparently I’m the guy who killed them!
And then a whole bunch of people “had information” on those murders (when you’re dragging two bodies along a train track, you’re gonna get noticed, even in Arkansas), so I killed them, too, one by one. And it really was a WHOLE BUNCH of people. I’m not sure how none of them managed to fill out a police report or talk to the press before I got to them, but hey, I guess luck was on my side while I was hunting them down over the next two years.
My favorite was James Milam. I decapitated him, but arranged the crime scene in such an expert way that the coroner ruled he died of natural causes. I wish I could disclose how I did that; suffice it to say that I’m The Man, and that The Man got mad skillz. There was Keith Coney, who died in a motorcycle “accident” (there were “unconfirmed reports” of a high-speed car chase…I’ll admit, that bit does sound like me). There was Jeff Rhodes, who was tortured, mutilated, shot in the head, put in a dumpster, and set on fire (yikes! like I have that much energy). There were other boring ones, too, shotgun blasts and stabbings that I won’t bother going into.
And then I was myself killed in a “robbery” in July of 1989, only of course it wasn’t really a robbery, it was an assassination made to look like a random crime. I guess I’d asked for a little hush money from the Clintons, so they had to silence me for good; or maybe they were wondering how, even after I’d killed a half-dozen or so potential witnesses, there were still so many people who “had information” on the Ives/Henry murders. I mean, hell, they still had another five or six of ‘em to bump off after I was gone! (Incidentally, they managed to kill one person via a bout of viral pneumonia; man, their skillz are even madder than mine!)
I am very distressed to learn that I’ve been dead for the last 19 years. I’m wondering why death hasn’t saved me from suffering through, for instance, the death of my father, or the end of my relationship with Bonnie, or seven-plus years of being ruled by a mendacious, war-mongering sociopath. Where’s my goddamned sweet oblivion?
On the plus side, I suppose this means that I can drink and smoke all I want, and eat lots of fatty foods.
Oh, yeah, and vote Obama. He doesn’t have a list yet.
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