P. J. O'Rourke has the current goods on Bill Clinton.

Bill Clinton gives hope to every one of us potato-nosed oafs from nowhere with our shiftless relatives and our marriages that are like being sewn up in a sack full of cats. If this knight of the manure shovel, this gas pudding, can become the leader of the free world, there's hope for us all. We observe his ragamuffin character stitched together from scraps of prevarication and ribbons of fantasy. We watch his hinge-heeled ethical contraption flap in the breeze of fundraising and personal finance. We cluck at the spectacle of a sad rip and his homely girlfriends. No annoying crick in the neck from looking up to this hero.

As someone once said, read the whole thing.

I've always thought that Bill sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for two full terms. The impeachment debacle seemed to prove it. But now I can't help wondering now if Satan isn't suffering from buyer's remorse, or the realization He got conned.

Way back before 1994 I decided there were two schools of thought about Bill Clinton. Some people thought he sold his soul to the devil, and others thought he'd be apt to swindle the devil.

Not much later I decided he'd done both -- he sold his soul all right, but it was already in hock to someone else at the time.