It's desperation time in Hillaryville. They're putting out fires faster than a Rocky Mountain ranger station during a lightning storm in the middle of an August drought. Turns out a certain inevitability has proven to be highly evitable. And watching the nomination slip through their fingers has to be going down as easy as a deep fried fork. Causing several revisions to what was previously a dead-solid game plan. Corrections include, but are not limited to: the banishment of key staffers to "integral" precincts on the outskirts of West Texas, attempts to wring blood out of contributors who insist on impersonating dried turnips, and the most difficult fix: figuring out how to get the candidate's husband to shut the hell up.
Yeah. Right. Good luck. You'd have a better shot at using a plastic butter knife to spay a pit pull on meth than try to muzzle this old dog. I suggest a wolf snare or tranquilizer gun as the best means to render the 42nd President of the United States docile enough to throw a choke chain around. Interesting how quickly the game changes. It wasn't that long ago, rival campaigns were complaining Hillary had an unfair advantage being married to a former President, "But he gets so much press." And now it's Hillary's staff doing the complaining, "But he gets so much press."
What was once a secret weapon is now an albatross tied by a frayed rope swinging wildly from the neck of the former First Lady. And because of his unique honor of biggest hound in the pound, Bubba isn't just a loose cannon, he's a loose aircraft carrier in high seas--rampaging down the campaign trail in the manner of a Japanese movie monster stomping through downtown Tokyo, using his heat vision to blast opponents and batting around members of the media like pastel bunnies off an Easter display shelf in a Hallmark Card shop. He must see himself as a guard dog protecting the hen house, no pun intended. Barack's camp accuses him of being the junkyard dog. And we can't have that. Because everybody knows that if Mr. Obama gets the nomination, the Republicans won't be mean. They'll roll over on their backs, begging to have their bellies scratched. Worst cast scenario, they try to bruise him by throwing rubber bones at his head. Hah. I laugh. Hah. I laugh again. You want to see negative campaigning? You wait until the junior Senator from Illinois gets the nomination, because you're going to see negative campaigning that will make what they did to Michael Dukakis look like recess pranks at a Catholic girls' school.
Bill Clinton nuzzles and he growls. He's a boon and a bane. A southern fried Jekyll and Hyde. Smoother than a puppy's fur, and more divisive than a flea ridden German shepherd at a Bat Mitzvah. One problem is everybody continues to introduce him as "Mr. President," like he's still in charge. That kind of thing can have an effect on a guy. If Hillary were smart, she'd sponsor a bill in Congress that would mandate all former Chief Executives be referred to as "Mr. Ex President." Kill two dogs with one stone. One dog being a certain George W. Bush, whom a lot of us can't wait to call "Mr. Ex- President."