Mr. Bill 

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What about Bill? That’s the big question now that Hillary is gearing up for the 2016 presidential race. According to those in the know, the former first lady, former United States senator and soon-to-be former secretary of state has the Democratic nomination four years hence in the bag.

Furthermore, it is widely assumed that she would coast into the White House, trouncing whatever sacrificial candidate the Grand Old Party offers up. Chris Christie? Too fat. Jeb Bush? Too Bushy. Sarah Palin? Yikes! Marco Rubio? No way the GOP brings forth another Mormon (Yes, baptized, confirmed and ordained, if not fully activated). Jon Huntsman Jr.? Partially Mormon, but more important, insufficiently screwy or shallow for Republican tastes.

So, what about Bill? Those who are really in the know, know that the only monkey wrench capable of impeding Hillary’s nomination and coronation is her once-and-future spouse, William Jefferson Clinton, aka Bubba, Bonobo Bill and President Flapdoodle. His days of active monkey business may be long past, but he presents a clear and present danger to Hillary nonetheless.

Those in the know remember all too well how Bill messed things up for Hillary back during the 2008 Democratic primaries. Hillary’s people wanted Bubba to stay well in the background. But the irrepressible former president has never been one to hide his light under a bushel. No Prince Philip he, hands clasped behind his back, walking two steps behind the queen, nodding modestly.

Back in 2008, no one in the Hillary camp knew what Bill would do one minute to the next. Would he be a good, unobtrusive boy and wave genially to the crowd? Or would he suddenly erupt in rage, getting bug-eyed and red in the face, full of fulmination as he wagged his extra-long bony finger and attacked the dastardly deceptions of then candidate Obama?

Hillary was supposed to just waltz into the White House without so much as breaking a sweat, but out of left field comes the upstart crow Obama to snatch her preordained prize. Bubba was furious, deprived of his return to the limelight.

But now it seems to be truly Hillary’s turn. There’s not another Obama (Michelle, anyone?) on the horizon to deny the Clinton Restoration. And this time, Hillary is wearing the pantsuit in the family, and word is that the first order of business among the Hillaryites is to Do Something About Bill. Although Bill and Hill have gone their separate ways for a long time now, everyone knows that Bill, with a chance to make it back to center stage, will be working his way back to Hillary. I got you, babe.

Old Flapdoodle loves attention— witness his eagerness to campaign for the despised lightweight Obama. It was clear, however, that his desire to get back in the game was stronger than his support for the president, which consisted mainly in saying he was a hell of a lot better than that Romney guy, whom, by the way, Flapdoodle called right after the election to commiserate and console, telling him that he lost because that ol’ storm came along and allowed Obama to play the big shot on TV, palling around with that big ol’ tub of a guv from Jersey.

No surprise that Bill schmoozed up the thoroughly humiliated Republican Mitt (now that he is once again a humble citizen, Mr. Romney has super-sized his itty-bitty Mit to its former glorious Mittness). What’s a little creepy was Flapdoodle’s heavy-breathing admiration of Mitt’s lovely spouse, confessing that he was darned impressed with her convention speech. Damned near went out and joined the Republican Party, he was so smitten.

Good ol’ Bill’s screwy call to Romney is precisely the sort of unpredictable behavior Hillary’s people want to keep a lid on for the next four years. Once Hillary’s safely in the White House, there are ways to keep the former president muzzled. As soon as he goes off on a red-faced rant about something, or snuggles up to the wife of the Swedish ambassador and invites her on a tour of the Lincoln bedroom, discreet but persuasive Secret Service agents will firmly but politely escort the wayward Flapdoodle from the room.

Until she can totally muzzle Bill, Hillary is looking for ways to get him out of the picture. Right now, she favors putting Bill on the first manned flight to Mars. Old Flapdoodle is said to be agreeable, and has proposed that his new biographer, Paula Broadwell, go along for the ride.

D.P. Sorensen writes a satire column for City Weekly.