Read my lips. I did not have sexual relations with that woman. Which means I nailed the bitch.

Hillary and I have a modern marriage. We each have a list of people we can have sex with without ramifications. Her list is Patrick Moynihan and Bill Nye. Mine has 75,000 names.

I particularly remember this day because I was wrapped in a sheet with a hole in it and Gina had a towel on her head and then the fire alarm went off and we had to rush outside. Or not. Damn! I really can't remember anything since my operation.

Of course Gina is denying. Sweet, sexy, shit for brains Gina promised not to reveal anything that would reflect badly on Hillary's presidential run and has no idea that her campaign is deader than Samuel Jackson's acting career.

Oh, and by the way, they are real and they are spectacular.

Todd Purdum, husband of my former press secretary Dee Dee Myers (been there, done that -- there, there, and oh yes, there) claims to have interviewed dozens of former aides and advisors for his recent hatchet job of me in that well-known purveyor of kiddie porn, Vanity Fair (not that there’s anything wrong with that).

As superdelegates make their choice between Barack Obama and my wife Hillary, I would like to remind the SD's where we would all be if  I had stayed in Arkansas in 1992 using my state police connections to get random tail.

Hillary Clinton: Divorced her husband in 1994 and opened a woman's pantsuit store in Little Rock. Filed for bankruptcy in 2007.

Nancy Pelosi: Pilates instructor in Santa Monica.

Al Gore: Dropped out of politics to sell Hummers in Nashville. Spends his days ensconced in his mansion running the air conditioner on high and refusing to get his leaky faucets fixed.

Barack Obama: Lost his alderman seat in Chicago after he built his platform on opposition to a war we weren't fighting. Became a correspondent for an Illinois television station and is now the host of Cheaters.

Bill Richardson: Deported.

At first, when Hillary told me that, because of my less than helpful behavior, I was being banished to small towns where I couldn't do any damage, I was outraged. But I could not have been more wrong. I love small town America.

These people are so hungry for a taste of fame that everything stops when I arrive. They meet me with a high school band and cheerleaders. Ohhh, cheerleaders. Their short skirts, their tight sweaters, their color coordinated bloomers visible as they're thrown so high. (Franklin and Jefferson were geniuses making the age of consent the same as the voting age.)

Then there's the food. Barbecued ribs, chicken dripping in grease, everything Hillary won't let me eat. And cheerleaders, cheerleaders with greasy fingers and sexy sauce stains accentuating their midriff-length bibs.

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I have to once again defend myself from another partisan attack, this time by that well known conservative bastion, The New Yorker and it's hatchet wielding "columnist" Ryan Lizza. Has anyone noticed that the reporters who slam Hillary and I have last names ending in vowels? I am not inventing this, it is fact.

In his little hit piece, Mr. Lizza says:

Every story has seemed to reinforce an image of Clinton as a sort of ill-tempered coot driven a little mad by Obama’s success.

Then he quotes a mysterious adviser who chose to hide behing the cloak of anonymity.

“'I think this campaign has enraged him,” the adviser told me. “He doesn’t like Obama.”

Vladimir, my man. A divorce and a 24-year-old gymnast? A 24-year-old gymnast ... my hands tremble as I type.

Remember that SNL sketch when Will Ferrell impersonated W. and he kept naming people he was putting in the Axis of Evil. Well today, I am starting my own Axis of Evil (Try to imagine Darrel Hammond reading this too you.)

So I just won't let this Bosnia thing go, even though it's negative press for Hillary and it has long since moseyed its way out of the news cycle.

Truth is she was never shot at in Bosnia. But she should have been. Damn Marines can't follow orders. How Lee Harvey Oswald found the Texas Book Depository without Mapquest is beyond me.

That bitch won't die. Marine sharpshooters, anti-biotic resistant STDs, nothing stops her. Forget it Barack. No matter how big a lead you've got you can't win. Try to kill her, she bounces right back up like an inflatable bop bag. 

One more clarification. When I said she was the only first lady to go into a war zone, I meant to say living with her is like a war zone.

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