Barack Obama was nominated for the U.S. Presidency by the Democratic Party, and Shrillary, the Wicked Witch of Westchester County, dissolved into a putrid puddle. She and Hubby's oh-so-subtly race-baiting press clips could never soak it up and resuscitate her, but we heard her cackle off in the ill distance that she'd be back, my pretty, as a bracing Rocky Mountain wind carried away that festering excuse for a soul.
Good Tuesday ain't even ten days old, tho, and good gosh a-mighty, there she is defiling our long-suffering video screens already. Is there any thunder left in Valhalla the Clintons won't shamelessly covet?
Most importantly, if Good King Barry ain't offering the High Priestess of Opportunism the audacious hope of snagging the first vacant Supreme Court seat, where she could at least put her law degree to some use and parenthetically bond over the agonies of sexual McCarthyism with Hubby's fellow martyr to said emotional plague Clarence Thomas (a one-man emotional plague himself)...why in blue blazes is he wasting his precious time with her in media-frenzied private conference? This tete-a-tete is very offensive...
Secretary of State, you say??? Gaaa-huh??? Would that be a reward for lying about that Bosnian crossfire she didn't endure? Or would the sweetest plum on the Tree of Counselors acknowledge her complete irrelevance to the Northern Ireland peace process, Hubby's greatest achievement in eight years of office-sitting (when he wasn't facesitting that delectable Jewish plumper Mata Harriet of his)? How does Bill Richardson, an eminently qualified potential Foggy Bottom potentate who put his chubby beaner ass on the line for Team Obama when it mattered, feel about the prospect of the eternally grating ingrate Shrillary hogging the diplobuzz to-day instead?
When will management permanently exclude this relentlessly cynical diva of despair, the ultimate unwanted plus-one, the guaranteed buzzkill spouse who'll scowl-dampen any festive gathering, from the guest list of international politics? Why can't she skitter off into semi-obscurity on those clattering claws of hers, oversee federal funding assistance to reconstruction of the Tappan Zee Bridge and stick to shit like that in a dutiful manner, leaving the rest of us non-Empire Staters the fuck alone?
I'll tell ya why, Skeezix. Because she bitches and moans and plays the gender card whenever she doesn't get her way. She's positively Sharptonesque and the other, more gifted broads in Washington, none of whom got there hanging for dear life from Hubby's necktie (none, that is, now that Liddy Dole's been consigned to pasture), don't squawk about it as they should have ever since the Pouty Princess of Park Ridge bum-rushed dozens of perfectly capable female would-be U.S. Senators from New York out of her way due to the faux power of her third name.
Do you think if Guv Richardson or Mr. Holbrooke or the Other Ms. Rice or any qualified SoS prospect cries on camera and whines about having to eat pizza, the masses will demand their appointment instead? Unlikely. No one can stop the Goddess of Guilt-tripping when she points a crooked crone's finger and demands her satisfaction, even if that means presentation of State itself. No one ever has, that is, except the President-elect and his creative team themselves.
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