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To: montag813
You are right. It was not the impeached ex-president's charm.

The rapist thug strong-armed the black leaders to start digging up the graves, mining for multiple voters, and otherwise dragging and dropping.

10 posted on 12/09/2002 10:29:02 AM PST by Mia T
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To: All
Art Imitates Life Imagined: West Winging It
 
by Mia T, 11-16-02

It is unclear precisely when Hollywood liberals began to believe their own material--Streisand repetitiveness, selfsameness, and ubiquity confound the issue--but by November 5, 2002, certainly, the transfer of all this nonsense to celluloid was complete.

In San Francisco during the month preceding the Democrat debacle, party operatives were busy mixing metaphors and switching hitters as they hedged their bets: Robocalls to erstwhile and presumptive liberals made by the impeached utter failure ex-president were quickly mitigated by those of Martin Sheen, clinton's competent counterpart cleanup man... just in case...

What is surprising here is not the swapping of Sheen for clinton- both are play-act presidents, after all. It is, rather, that the Democrats believed it was necessary to hedge their bets in the most liberal city in the country. No other single act, it seems, foreshadowed more ominously the Democrat Debacle of '02.

Q ERTY9

BUSH: "I will not wait on events, while dangers gather."

 

Q ERTY6

utter failure

Q ERTY8

 rodham-clinton reality-check

Democrat Debacle of '02

BUMP!


13 posted on 12/09/2002 10:35:33 AM PST by Mia T
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To: montag813; All
 
Q ERTY6
Crime-family values
But they are space aliens
BUMP!

It's not easy to play fair against Mr. and Mrs. Clinton, who, in the words of the authors, "operated like a crime family, expecting friends and aides to protect them even against their own best interests." What's amazing, of course, is that's exactly what Clinton friends and aides have always done, from Susan McDougal to Webster Hubbell to flocks of nameless White House special assistants. Even Jim McDougal died just in time to deprive the independent counsel of a key witness against Mrs. Clinton, thus derailing what the authors report to have been her likely indictment for perjury and obstruction related to the Whitewater investigation....     

Reading the tumultuous events of the Lewinsky probe in a comprehensive narrative is unlike attempting to make sense of it in daily doses. Something different comes through the heavy accumulation of detail of, for example, the duplicity of the Justice Department, or the sharklike behavior of the White House. One begins to get a choking sense of the atmosphere of corruption and ruthlessness the Clintons inhabit -- and, worse, have forced the rest of us to inhabit. Taken in one piece, the habitual, even casual abuse of power on display begins to resemble conditions one normally associates with a state of totalitarianism, where such concepts as truth and justice are only paid lip service. In the end, then, it makes you wonder when there will be fresh air again.

Crime-family values

 

It was Robert Torricelli…right before his eyes
It was Robert Torricelli…who's quite small in size
He had poured much money into his campaign
But now what he was seeing's quite insane
It was Robert Torricelli…that worthless lump
 
(La-la-la-la-la)
It's Robert Torricelli…it's Robert Torricelli
It's Robert Torricelli…that worthless lump
doug from upland
 
 
 
THE GODFATHER -- Part XXXVIII
 
by Edward Zehr
 
______________________

Scene: Don Tor~r~-i-CHE-li's suite in the Senate Office Building.

 
[Enter Clinton]
 
 
Don Tor~r~-i-CHE-li: [pinching his cheek] Beely-boy, paisano, howa-
you-doin' uh?
 
Clinton: [kisses his ring] My respects, Don Torricelli.
 
Don Tor~r~-i-CHE-li: [speaking in a hoarse, high-pitched whisper]
You know-a da boys here -- "Dungheap" Harkin an' "Doofus" Dodd, da
lowa half-a da waitress samwich. [Head jerks in their direction].
Da uddah half couldn' make it ta-day.
 
Clinton: I keep tellin' him not to mix booze and coke.
 
"Doofus" Dodd: [muttering] No respect -- evah since dat aftanoon
at La Brasserie I don't get no respect.
 
"Dungheap" Harkin: What a pile-a dung! I tole ya ta keep ya paws
offa-da help till afta hou-was, ya big doofus.
 
[Don Tor~r~-i-CHE-li casts a stern look in their direction --
the two wiseguys pipe down].
 
Don Tor~r~-i-CHE-li: So, what bringa-you here to see you old
God-Fatha, huh? [playfully mussinng his hair] You in trouble over
la ragazza again? Huh? Uh? [leers knowingly]
 
Clinton: [looking worried] I'm worried, Godfather. They're talking
to Monica again. They've got six Jane Does warming up in the
bullpen. Six! Whatamigonnado, Godfather, whatamigonnado?
 
Don Tor~r~-i-CHE-li: [looking VERY annoyed] HEY! hey -- whats
alla dis whatamigonnado, whatamigonnado? Whatta you God-Fatha
teacha YOU, huh? You KNOW whachu gotta do. You senda wiseguy around
ta break bot-a dere legs. Ya remembah how we take care-a dat
mout'piece in Liddle-Rock -- da one wid' da tapes-a you at Gennifuh's
pad?
 
 
Clinton: B-but, but . . .
 
Don Tor~r~-i-CHE-li: But? BUT? Hey look, paisan' -- I know you gotta
position ta uphold. You gotta image ta considah. Dis is a matta
f'la famiglia. You tella you God-Fatha da problem -- we
fixa f'you, Okay?
 
Clinton: But you can't break all of their legs -- how would it
look?
 
Don Tor~r~-i-CHE-li: [looking grievously wronged] BEELY, Beely,
Beely -- what great wrong did I doa-ta you, dat you treat me wid
such disrespect? Now you gonna teacha me my bidniss -- huh?
[in a cold tone of voice] You remembah Vin-CHEN-zo, right?
 
Clinton: [looking scared] Yes, Godfather.
 
Don Tor~r~-i-CHE-li: He hada biga mout'. He gonna talka
bout da blood-a-drive, right?
 
Clinton: Yes, Godfather.
 
Don Tor~r~-i-CHE-li: We fixa f'you, okay? No blood-a-spatta, no
broken-a-teeth, no crime-a-scene photos, no x-a-ray. We provide-a
da drop-a gun. (No charge). We laya him out nice & neat -- very
professional, very discrete. You gotta complaint?
 
Clinton: No, Godfather.
 
Don Tor~r~-i-CHE-li: Good. You do-need-ta worry about no Jane Does.
I make-a-dem an offa dey cannot refuse, capish?
 
Clinton: Yes, Godfather.
 
Don Tor~r~-i-CHE-li: [pinching his ear] You-a goodboy, Beely.
Give-a my regards ta-da wife.
 
Clinton: [kisses his ring and withdraws].
 
[CUT]

 

 

The only way they can win is to convince people that we're space aliens.

--bill clinton

 
 

 

 
 
June 9, 1999
 
Peggy Noonan's excellent piece in yesterday's Wall Street Journal is really the story of the death of democracy. At its core it is the description of the human double helix gone terribly awry, of a denatured protein grotesquely twisted, of two mutant, tangled strands of DNA, the basest imaginable of base pairs linked permanently, as firmly as guanine to cytosine, bill inexorably to hillary and conversely, doing what they do best, and doing it relentlessly.
 
Killing.
Killing insidiously.
Killing as they pose and pander and feel our pain.
 
My only complaint is with Peggy Noonan's title.
The Mad Boomer, doesn't begin to capture candidate clinton considered separately or even taken as the self-anointed "twofer," permanently conjoined at that cavity conspicuously empty except for ego, that place where brain and soul and guts and heart normally reside.
 
This is not to say that she -- that they -- are not both quite mad and of that self-indulgent, arrogantly, ignorantly solipsistic age sandwiched flatly between yesterday's innocence and tomorrow's insouciance. Rather, it is that their madness and their boomerism don't even begin to explain their noxious influence: The cloying, internally inconsistent clinton calculus. The unspoken clinton threats. They permeate the atmosphere like a coiling miasma, choking off all freedom.
 
Even in New York.
Especially in New York.
When she wrote "The New Colossus," Emma Lazarus hardly had in mind this pair of mutant, deadly, twisted aliens.
 
So forget Arkansas-Illinois carpetbaggery and standard issue muckraking. The clintons are aliens of quite another sort. They are extrinsic, not of this world. They are inhuman. They are dehumanizing.
 
You may recall that the first act of this story of two degenerates maintained by iterating idiots, farce of farce ad infinitum, was generated quite by accident by iterated AlGoreRhythm, who, it should be noted, is now himself the object of iterated calculation by said degenerates who want iteration 2004 all for themselves.
 
And thus the odd bit of bloody Gore in Act II: The ugly sight of a corrupt, bottom-heavy hillary self-impaled on the horns of a Treason-Dilemma- masquerading-as-a-Third-Term-Dilemma-masquerading-as-a-Senate-stampede, for example, or bill's recent unsolicited, underwhelming Times interview on the Gore candidacy.
 
Act I was called "The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover." Ostensibly the tale of the wife of a bloodthirsty crime boss who finds romance with a bland bookseller between courses at her husband's restaurant, it was in fact the Thyestean and moveable -- yet unmoving -- feast of hillary clinton at her husband's sham restitution. (Note the reciprocity. The sham restitution in Act II is all hillary's.)
 
Food, color coding, sex, murder, torture and cannibalism were the exotic (if mostly horizontal) fare in this beautifully filmed but brutally uncompromising modern memoir which passed as ancient fable about nouveau riche rapacity.
Not for the faint at heart, Purple Hearts or queazy stomachs, this depiction of the gross debasement of America was heavily peppered with irony and dark humor throughout.
 
Although she baked no cookies, didn't do illicit land or cattle d eals and stood by no man, hillary clinton starred in the triple role of the Cook, the Thief and his Wife. Her lover was played at once vaporously and in workmanlike fashion by the ghost of Eleanor Roosevelt, with Janet Reno, between her stints rendering intermittent injustice for the Husband, as the reliable stand-in. Sidney Blumenthal was the stand-in for the Cook and Craig Livingstone the stand-in for the Thief. The last-minute addition of Christopher Hitchens as the snitch was a stroke of absolute genius notwithstanding its cerebral accident, its predictable-if-perfect pitch and its facile alliteration.
 
Although Act I had no rating, the new clinton soccer-mom directive will require a photo ID for any viewer without independent proof of illegal alien DNC or DNA sequencing.
 
 
In Act II, rabid anti-clinton voters, roughly 33% of the U.S. populace according to as-yet-unpodded pollsters, become increasingly aware that they are disappearing in droves and being replaced by alien pod replicas which have their physical attributes but lack all anti-clinton affect.
 
If Act I was a thinly veiled allegory about naked clintonism, then Act II is a parable about the plan for world domination by the Establishment, aged hippies in pinstripes all, with their infantile, solipsistic world view amazingly untouched by time.

INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS

 


27 posted on 12/09/2002 3:18:46 PM PST by Mia T
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