Written by K.C. Bell
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Topics: Hillary Clinton

Sunday, 20 January 2008

image for There Will Be Blood In Hillary's Campaign

A pin prick of a question about Hillary's White House experience is certain to raise an oil gusher of bloody questions. Often using her eight years in the White House as experience, (something Barack Obama doesn't have) how did this hands on First Lady failed to notice that her husband, Bill, was carrying on an affair for 18 months with an intern right under her nose?

Sure she knows the location of the wine cellar, Lincoln bedroom, elevators, communication's office, usher's quarters, and so on, but if she were really 'hands on' and on her toes, Hillary could have prevented her husband's impeachment. Pass a Band-Aid.

In razor sharp contrast, (grab a tourniquet) while Rudolph Giuliani was mayor of New York and living in the mayor's mansion, Rudy moved his nurse, Judith Nathan, (now his 3rd wife) into the mansion. His 2nd wife, Donna Hanover, was also living in the mansion with both their children, took notice of the nurse living upstairs, got a court order and had Ms. Nathan removed from the premises. She had the dame kicked out; like va, va, voom! Now that's one mama mia, hands on first lady, and it didn't take a village!

How far away was Hillary's office from the Oval office? A city block? Half block? In the west wing? Thirty feet? Ten? Was the secret service standing guard at the doorway to prevent unannounced visits by the First Lady, or did Jiggs just post a sign reading: Do Not Disturb. If a lady fails to discover her husband's peccadilloes under the same roof, how in ER can she ever catch Osama bin Laden? Osama could be hired as a White House gardener, pastry chef or intern. Transfusion required.

Even Lucy Ricardo would have sniffed out Ricky's girl friend had she been visiting his oval office for 18 months: follow the perfume. Is this the kind of negligent behavior we should expect and accept from a Commander In Chief?

Forget the oil gushing blood bath. Stand back. She's crying again. Pass the Kleenex.

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The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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