Funny thing happened when the alarm went off the other morning. I awoke in the 1990s. The tabloids were talking about Richard Simmons, there was word of a possible New Kids on the Block tour, First Brother Roger Clinton has been arrested for a DUI, another best-seller is exposing Hillary’s White House reign of terror … and a Clinton has cinched the Democratic nomination.

But for the dress code where I work I might have slipped into a pair of MC Hammer pants.

Hillary’s nomination and that new book from former Secret Service agent Gary J. Byrne sharing what he witnessed in the Clinton White House has unleashed a flood of memories from the decade of boy bands and dot-com booms. And with the flood comes a bank of storm clouds warning of another deluge.

My perspective is a shade peculiar. During the entire Clinton presidency, I was a topical humor writer in Los Angeles tasked with writing 40 jokes a day for client DJs around the country. I will confess right now I loved the Clintons. Like Bill loved Big Macs. Like Hillary loves fake accents.

Bill and Hillary made my job so easy. See, punch lines were never my problem. God’s wired my brain to automatically “fill in” the next line after a headline. For example, I just took a quick glance at the morning’s Drudge Report.

The headline: “National Enquirer: Richard Simmons Transitioning (to a) ‘Softly Spoken Woman Named Fiona.” My brain: “America shocked. Can’t imagine Richard Simmons soft-spoken.” However, according to TMZ, Simmons was just pictured sporting a beard. My brain: “So he’s an Italian woman.”

Jokes — good, bad or ugly — are easy. The toughest part was coming up with topics. But never with the Clintons around. Even as I sit here:

The top headline from Drudge: “I Am Woman Hear Me Roar.”
The top headline from Drudge next week: “I Am Woman Hear Me Plead the Fifth.” 

With the Clintons and their supporting — and opposing — cast of characters, I was guaranteed three or four topics a day. Figure four topics at two jokes per topic, and I was starting the day with eight jokes, or 20% of my work day done before I’d finished my morning doughnut.

And this is before anyone had ever heard the name Monica Lewinsky. These were the days of Gennifer Flowers, of bimbo eruptions, of Hillary telling America “I’m not some Tammy Wynette; standing by my man,” of Bill jogging around town in tight shorts and tooting a sax on Arsenio; of the soon-to-be leader of the free world answering the question “Boxers or briefs?” These were the days of Travelgate, Filegate; the selling of the Lincoln Bedroom; rumored romps with Eleanor Mondale; a reported fling with Barbara Streisand; the singing brother with the coke conviction; Hillarycare; the Clintons making an instant killing on cattle futures; files disappearing from Vince Foster’s office; files mysteriously popping up in the White House residence; Whitewater, more Whitewater, still more Whitewater; Katherine Willey, Juanita Broaddrick, the McDougals; Arkansas Troopers procuring women; all of it building toward that comically Orwellian moment when, under oath, President Bill explained, “It depends on what the meaning of ‘is’ is.”

And, of course, there was Miss Monica Lewinsky: The intern in the beret; a flashed thong; the stained blue dress; the big hair; the cigar; the oral sex; “Is oral sex sex?”; intercepted phone calls between bickering lovers; Linda Tripp; John Goodman as Linda Tripp; Ken Starr; Bill’s wagging finger and lawyerly denial, “I did not have sex with that woman.” This and the “The Vast Right Wing Conspiracy,” the truth; the confession; the tales of flying vases; a chilly walk to the helicopter; the impeachment saga.

I’m pooped just typing out this incomplete sampling. Which gets to my point. As great as it was to get paid to poke fun at the Clintons, following their antics was exhausting. The scandals and strangeness, corruption and sexcapades were unceasing. Even on their way out the door, they managed to cause one last scandal by walking away with $190,000 of White House furniture. The British, when they sacked Washington, didn’t make out as good.

After eight years of this, America was spent.

The Return of Billary/Hillabubba

If you’re too young to remember — or too nostalgic to care — understand what you’re getting when you vote for the Clintons, once affectionately referred as Billary. You’re not getting the administration of the Executive Branch of the Federal Government. You’re getting an amusement park … with rickety roller coasters, houses of horror, houses of mirrors and tea-cup rides that spin and spin and spin and never let you off. Admission is very steep.

Time has not turned Clinton amusement park into peaceful pastures.

Hillary and Bill have not even been elected yet, and we are already teed up with:

• $1200 designer jackets while talking about income inequality
• $200,000 for speeches about fighting for the little guy paid for by rich insiders buying influence.
• Bill flying high with a known pedophile.
• The buxom girlfriend the Secret Service calls “The Energizer”
• The Energizer woman’s company curiously getting grants from the Clinton Global Initiative.
• Nations that donated to the Clinton Foundation curiously getting a greater percentage of arms deals while Hillary was Secretary of State.
• Donors to the Clinton Foundation getting easier access than Huma Abedin.
• Aide Huma Abedin, so close to Hillary she’s like a daughter, but without the cushy contract from NBC. Just sweetheart exemptions allowing her to work two other jobs while on the taxpayer dime.
• Benghazi
• Benghazi supposedly caused by a video
• The Benghazi Report
• The Benghazi movie 13 Hours now on DVD.
• The Dinesh D’Souza movie Hillary’s America set for release.
• Return engagements from Paula Jones, Juanita Broaddrick, Gennifer Flowers, along with former mistress and Miss Arkansas Sally Miller coming forward to dish on the duo.
• We’ve even got Monica Lewinsky emerging from two decades in the shadows to preach on cyber-bullying and brighten the pages of Vanity Fair.

And I hear there’s also some business about an email server and the FBI and national secrets and the release of CIA agent names, and aides pleading the fifth, and foreign hackers being brought to the States to testify, and scathing IG reports and the ever-familiar refrain that there’s nothing to see here. At least the 2016 Clinton spin-machine is eco-friendly.

Do we really want to go through this again? Don’t we have enough in the tank to replay the ’90s? Didn’t last year’s Jim Carrey-Jeff Daniels sequel to Dumb and Dumber teach us anything?

Thankfully, Hillary’s opponent is a serious, somber guy not prone to dramatics or controversy.

I’m joking. Sadly, I’m joking.

With Hillary and her husband, and Donald Trump and his ego, humor writers and late-night hosts are in hog heaven. If only Trump would name Sarah Palin his VP their joy could be complete.

But America isn’t entertainment. It’s an experiment in liberty and limited government. And by any measure the experiment is turning sour. If we are to right the nation, we will need courage. And yes, we will need humor to help us through, to deflate the pompous and lift the dispirited. The Jester has his place.

But in this season, the Jester’s place begins on his knees.

“Laughter can conceal a heavy heart, but when the laughter ends, the grief remains.” (Proverbs 14:13)