Apologies to WW Jacobs
Bill Clinton was strolling along the streets of Martha's Vineyard one fine day. Hillary was off in Iowa campaigning, and Bill was scheduled to travel out there in two days to give a series of campaign speeches for her. It was the last thing he wanted to do. Stopping in an antique shop, a strange object caught his eye. He asked the shopkeeper what it was.
"It's a monkey's paw," answered the shopkeeper.
"Really?" responded Bill. "What would anyone do with a monkey's paw?" he asked.
"According to legend, if you rub the paw, you can make four wishes and they will come true," answered the shopkeeper.
Bill laughed. "Don't you mean three wishes?"
"No," answered the shopkeeper. "That's the magic lantern. With the monkey's paw, you get four wishes."
Of course, Bill didn't believe a word of it, but he thought it might be a great conversation piece to put on his bookshelf.
"How much?"
"Twenty dollars."
"Will you take ten?"
"Fifteen."
"OK."
Returning that night to his house at Chappaqua, Bill placed the paw on his bookshelf and poured himself a drink. A female friend came over and they continued to drink.
Later that night, after several drinks, he thought about the monkey's paw sitting on the bookshelf. Just for laughs, he walked over, grabbed the paw and rubbed it.
"Watch this," he said to his friend, "I have two wishes. First, I don't have to go to Iowa to make speeches for Hillary, and second, I want a million dollars." Placing the paw back on the shelf, he stumbled off to bed arm in arm with his friend.
The next day after his friend left, Bill got an urgent call from Hillary's campaign manager in Iowa. Just an hour before, while touring a local micro-brewery, Hillary was inspecting a vat used to mash hops when she fell into the vat and was horribly mangled beyond recognition.
"Don't bother coming to Iowa," the campaign manger said. "There is nothing you can do."
"OK," said Bill.
Bill didn't think of it at the time until two days later when an insurance agent came to the house and presented him with a check for one million dollars.
"This is the settlement from Hillary's life insurance policy, " he explained.
After the agent left, Bill walked over to the bookshelf and looked at the monkey's paw.
"Is there really something to this?" he asked himself. He put the paw into his pocket.
Two days later, at the funeral for Hillary, Bill stood there with a sad expression on his face. Reporters came over to him. They asked about what he was holding in his hand. He told them the story of the monkey's paw.
"What would you wish for now?" asked one of the reporters.
"Yes, what would you wish for if that legend is true?" the others chimed in.
Bill was trapped. What could he say?
"If I could, I would rub this monkey's paw and wish that Hillary would climb out of that grave come back to me and be elected president of the United States. As the reporters looked on expectantly, he rubbed the paw. It was his third wish.
As everyone left, Bill thought to himself, "I didn't really want to do that, but what the Hell. That can't possibly come true, right?"
Three nights later, Bill was sleeping. It was 3 am. Suddenly, his partner shook his shoulder and woke him up.
"What was that?" she said.
"What was what?"
"I hear footsteps in the front yard."
Bill sat up. Sure enough, he could hear the slow, creaking footsteps approaching the front porch. He jumped out of bed. As he reached the living room, the steps were louder. Then there was a knock on the door.
"Who is it?" asked his friend.
"It's Hillary," Bill answered.
The knocking continued.
"That's silly. Hillary is dead. I'm going to open the door," the woman said.
"No, don't," Bill shouted.
But just as he was saying that, the woman was unlocking the door. There was only one thing to do.
Rubbing the paw, he shouted, "Please let her be dead! Let her be dead!"
The door was opened. Nobody was there. Just a loud rush of wind. Bill Clinton had used his fourth and last wish.
"Whew. Let's go back to bed, Baby."
" I don't think that's funny."
Not awful, but not ready for prime time... or even SNL.
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