I think I speak for a sizable portion of the American public, of all political stripes, on this one: I wish James Carville hadn't forced me to consider the issue of Hillary Clinton's balls.
It's a ticklish subject, of course, but Hillary's supporters won't leave it alone. Maybe if Carville's bizarre suggestion that Barack Obama has some kind of Testicle Gap -- "if Hillary gave him one of her cojones, they'd both have a pair" -- had just been some freaky one-shot-deal, we might've figured that The Human Praying Mantis was having an especially bad day, and blown the whole thing off. Because when a black man with an Arab-sounding name goes up against an ex-occupant of the White House with the whole Democratic Party machine behind her -- and beats her -- you've got to admit he's got a decent pair of stones, if nothing else. But then, when a second Clinton hack shouted to the world how excited he was about the ex-First Lady's "testicular fortitude," it became clear that her campaign, for some weird reason, had made Testicle-Gate into a talking-point.
Don't get me wrong. I have tremendous respect for balls. Though my days of barfighting and high-contact sports are behind me, I wake up every day with two ripped-up knees, a broken nose, and a wrecked back to show for years of gloriously mis-spent testosterone. And, God willing, balls will always play a major -- and mostly pleasant -- role in my life. So when Carville and Co. decided to make "Cojones-Gate" a major campaign issue, I started to wonder: why this particular snarky tactic? Could it be that maybe they protesteth too much? What might all this compulsive balls-talk be compensating for?
I didn't want to play The Nerd Card. I really didn't. It's all James Carville's fault. He forced me to take a good hard look at All the Hillary's Men.
Think about 'em: Terry McAuliffe, grinning inanely into TV cameras, forever the sixth-grader running home to tell Mom that Teacher said he's a good boy for tattling on his classmates. Howard Wolfson, smug for no reason, dutifully spreading his Reverend Wright crap. Carville himself, growing visibly more bitter by the millisecond, until he threatens to consume his own flesh, live, on national TV. The porcine Mark Penn, curiously unkempt, too busy shovelling blood-stained Blackwater cash into his pockets. To say nothing of Bill, staggering around those second-tier campaign-stops, still wagging that effete index-finger in our faces.
Kinda makes you wonder about her taste in men. Speaking from a purely Carville-ian perspective, of course -- not exactly a metric-ton of testicles in the bunch.
As a strategic ploy, it seems to me, this whole Cojones-Gate thing backfired on Clinton. Too bad James Carville didn't have a politically-savvy drag-queen stationed in campaign headquarters--she might've told him: "Girlfriend, don't even go there."