So I haven't had a chance to post for awhile. It's not that I haven't had anything to say. I've been itching to write as I watched all the craziness go by.
Take last week for instance. Sen. Obama invited the country to a conversation on race and then desperately wished they would shut up about it already (in his mind). Obama is everybody's favorite mutt after all. Being a part of every race means he should offend nobody, right? Not quite. Just ask the Clinton campaign and the far right, who almost seem to have formed an alliance of convenience to smear and destroy the boy wonder. Hillary doesn't mind sticking her hand into the toilet bowl to get crap to throw at Barack, and the reliable Right will always be there to cheer her on. Last week some of the crap stuck. Barack took his bobbing and weaving back to the stage where he gave speech on race that was praised or poohed, depending on which side of the aisle you perched.
If that wasn't enough, we learned that New York governor Elliot Spitzer has sexual fantasies he's willing to spend $4,300 to live out. He pays this to a high class courtesan (i.e. expensive prostitute) who, as it turns out, is just another brunette who has been giving it away for free to Girls Gone Wild and anybody else who asked, except Splitzer. His wifey stood by. I'm sure she has a good lawyer on speed dial, though. Spitzer was replaced by Lt. Gov. David Paterson, who, as it turns out, was a more frugal stud muffin. He's been getting it for free from willing women on the state payroll, taking them to the $108 Holiday Inn, and stiffing the NY tax payers with the bill. Priceless.
Kwame "the Playa Maya" Kilpatrick accused Michigan press and prosecutors of staging a witch hunt into his shenanigans. It turns out that you can't swear under oath that you weren't getting "benefits" from the staff and then send text messages confirming it. Who knew? It's a sign of the new millennium when the latest sex scandal is actually a text message. Naturally, Kwame will be fully exonerated, especially since his FWB got on the stand and rolled her eyes and gave up much attitude. This was obviously a play to elicit sympathy for sleeping with a married man, while using public funds. It's not like the court has any impact over her life, right. She was down with the Playa Maya. They must not know. Turns out they did. Now they're both indicted. LOL. Oops! Wifey OTS.
Hillary launched a red phone commercial designed to scare the parents of little blonde girls. "Who do you want answering the phone?" the announcer gravely intoned, while we all tried not to giggle about the fact that she'd have to make another call to try and find Bill, wherever he was at 3 a.m.
Of course, Hillary's ever morphing yardstick has been a constant delight. The true measurement of the winner will be delegates. No, it will be primaries won. No, it will be big states that I won...I mean...that matter to Democrats. No, it will be the popular vote. No, it will be a computer simulation of the electoral college...that I just happened to have on my laptop. That silly thing about delegates is just a guide. We have the flexibility to ply those rules to ensure true justice is served, and we elect the right candidate to her rightful position. Somebody please smack her with that yardstick.
We moved from Obama's Audacity of Hope, to Clinton's sheer audacity in offering the VP to Obama while she was still running significantly behind him. David Brooks offers in today's New York Times that things look so bleak that she is officially living the Audacity of Hopelessness.
And to this madness, I resume my blog.
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