“It’s the wife, Harry. She’s ticked off at me because I took the ticket money set aside for Kid Rock and spent it at the racetrack.”

“Not good. What did you tell her?”

“I told her the truth. Then she beaned me with a frying pan. That ever happen to you, Harry?”

“Used to. Then I discovered the mother lode of excuses. Now I blame everything on Bill Clinton.”

“Really? Does it work?”

“You bet it works. For example, take last week. I was supposed pick up tickets for *NSYNC, but I blew it off and spent the money on lap dancers. I just told the wife that, due to unresolved questions regarding Vince Foster, I completely deep-sixed my moral compass in favor of helping young ladies pursue their dreams of financial independence.”

“And that worked?”

“Like a charm. Just like that time last month when I told her we couldn’t afford tickets for Stereophonics and Kottonmouth Kings because I was too upset about Clinton’s dealings with China.”

“Wow.”

“I gotta tell you, Joe, life is a lot easier since I started blaming all my troubles on Bill Clinton. Remember a couple of weeks ago when I said I was going to Ticketmaster to buy tickets for F-8 Featuring Leif Garrett? Well, I gotta little distracted and ended up spending my money on cheap gin instead. I just told the wife that if Clinton hadn’t accepted campaign money from Enron, this entire mess would not have happened.”

“Gosh, Harry, it sounds like blaming Bill Clinton for all my troubles just might be the answer I’ve been looking for.”

“Hundreds of conservative columnists can’t be wrong, Joe. For example, I’m supposed to make a mortgage payment this week, but I promised the wife I’d buy her tickets for the Jagermeister Music Tour featuring Drowning Pool, Coal Chamber and Ill Nino. I’ll just tell the bank that I can’t make my payments on time because Bill Clinton smoked but never inhaled.”

“Gee, I never would have thought of that.”

“Or the other night when my impotency flared up. I blamed it all on how Clinton’s affair with the intern brought disgrace to the Oval Office, thus weakening my manhood.”

“That’s incredible, Harry.”

“That’s the legacy of Bill Clinton, Joe. An excuse for everything and everything has an excuse. Why don’t you try it?”

“Lessee… ‘I’m sorry I forgot to buy the tickets for Jacob Fred Jazz Odyssey, but I’ve been feeling really depressed over the way Bill Clinton treated Paula Jones.'”

“Not bad, Joe. Needs work, but not bad.”

“This is great, Harry! From now on I’m going to blame all of my problems on Bill Clinton.”

“That’s the spirit, Joe, but don’t overdue it. You never know when a FOB is listening.”

“FOB?”

“Friend of Bill. After all, you don’t want to end up like Buddy, do you?”

“Buddy?”

“Clinton’s dog.”

“Uh? Oh, yeah…”