Bill DeBlasio.
They don’t want her. They hate it. But they fear the Clinton machine and Gollum ghouls that infest it.
They are waiting for that one event, that one “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up moment” when the wildebeest is off her hooves and the hyenas can pounce and feast.
That fresh young socialist chick who cloyed, cajoled and trapped the barnyard’s best young Turk catch and later transitioned to a devious and clever hen with sharp laws, has in effect become the tough, grizzled yard bird no other chickens want to be near. They all pray for the day when farmer Bob comes out to the yard with an axe and his eye on HER.