Faith Can Move Mountains... But Dynamite Works Better

Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Gollum And The Precious Nomination

Since I had my take on Donald Trump's speech last week, fair's fair and so here's a take on Hillary's acceptance speech this week. 


“I must say, basking in triumph like this is very, very satisfactory. It will only be all the more so in November when we’ve won and I finally get to call myself President Hillary Rodham Clinton. And then rub it in the face of that oompa loompa.

Thank you for your confidence in me. I’ve wanted this for many, many years. Longer than anyone can know. We’re so close to the mountain top. It’s just there, that much closer after all the work we’ve done for years and years and years on end. I’m ready to plant the flag on the top. Which reminds me of the stories about who I was named after. You know, you can go on for years thinking you’re named for Edmund Hillary because of his great triumph in reaching the top of the highest mountain on earth... before you realize you were born a few years too early. Oh well, that’s a detail, and sometimes details are things we overlook.


Where was I? Oh yes, wanting this for many years. The presidency is something I’ve been close to for a long time. And I wanted it. Oh, did I want it. I needed it. I had to have it. It was mine, my own, my precious...

I’m getting carried away with myself again.

My point is when I was growing up I already decided to myself that I wanted to be in the White House. And not just as a First Lady or as a Cabinet member or whatever. As the one person making the big decisions. No, not the court jester. Which reminds me, what’s Carville doing these days?


I wanted to be the President. Not just the President, but the very first woman President.

I wanted to be that trailblazer, showing the way to the future, showing young girls that hey, you too can grow up to be the President of the United States. Eventually. After you’ve married a governor who ends up being President himself. After you’ve done time... in the Senate, people, in the Senate! Not the big house, despite what Chris Christie and the oompa loompa think should happen to me. Honestly, Governor Christie, how do you live with yourself?


Where was I? Right. After time in the Senate. And then Secretary of State.

But before that came my first run at the nomination. Eight years ago.

Of course the party didn’t see things my way eight years ago. Instead they gave it to the President.

They stoles it from us! Nasty filthy little hobbitses, it was ours! Ours! And they stoles it!


Ahem. Sorry about that. I got a little off track.

So everything I did was about getting myself in place for this great day. Well, this great day and the election day, which will be even greater.

Yes, we managed to get through the Sixties. Like Bill, I didn’t inhale. Though it might have been okay in retrospect if I had inhaled. I might have ended up being a bit more mellow and laid back, and well, kind of human in the way I interact with people. Oh well, at least I don’t come across like a complete robot, unlike a certain Republican I won’t mention.

Marco Rubio, I’m looking at you.


So there we were, getting ourselves established, living like the other half lived, or whatever that expression meant. Making our bona fides known and having a daughter we’re so very proud of and all that. And have I mentioned how pleased I am to be a grandmother? It really works well with the focus groups, even if I can’t knit so much as one of those adorable baby socks you see in all the nostalgic magazines about grandmotherhood.

Aren’t babies precious?

My precious, my precious... we wants it!


Oh, there I go again. Bill calls it my Smeagol moment. I kind of drift off into imitations of that character, that’s all. And that’s all they are. Imitations! I am not overly obsessed with the Ring of Sauron and I am not deranged and having conversations with myself all the time. There is no Ring of Sauron, and I’m not obsessed with it.

The Oval Office, on the other hand...


Anyway, I know what the polls say. That I’m one of the most unfavourable candidates in American history. Rest assured, though, that the oompa loompa is even more unlikable than I am. So to the voters out there who haven’t decided, ask yourself this: do you want someone who brings experience and wisdom and the occasional streak of being a bit terribly unlikable in the Oval Office? Do you want someone who’s from time to time been investigated by the FBI like I have? Do you want someone whose party has perpetually asked, are we sure it has to be her?

Or do you want a tiny handed oompa loompa with zero political experience, business disasters, and no social skills?

America, let’s move forward together. We’ve done it before. I’ve done it before, what with forgiving my husband every time he’s gone astray. Which reminds me, to the White House interns of the female persuasion, you won’t have to worry. I’m having Bill fitting with an electro-shock collar that gives him a jolt any time he gets turned on.


Oh, sure, Bill, laugh now, but you won’t be laughing the first time you get shocked.

My fellow Americans, I look forward to serving as your President. I look forward to leading this country forward past all the division and the rancor. I really look forward to sitting in the Oval Office making all the big decisions.

Because it’s mine. Mine! My own! My precious! We needs it! We wants it! It’s ours! Nasty Bernies Sanderses standing in our way! It’s ours!


Ahem... there I go again. Sorry. I get carried away sometimes.

Thank you for your support. To those members of the party who wanted Bernie up here, I will do everything I can to gain your trust, even if I have to name the cranky old guy to my cabinet. To the oompa loompa, I say this: Donald, everyone knows it’s a combover.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I see that Bill’s sniffing around the barely legal daughter of the governor.”

Monday, July 25, 2016

The Extra Short Orange Running Mate


Washed Up Reality Television Star Expresses Ambitions While Being Oblivious To Reality

New York (AP) With the Democratic National Convention getting started this week, and Hillary Clinton often going on and on about what she calls “her precious”, all eyes are on Philadelphia, where the party will be giving the former Secretary of State what she has always wanted- the nomination for the presidency and her ticket to power. There has been much speculation as to who Clinton would be designating as her Vice President. Some more cynical observers have noted that the Vice President would be far more important than usual given the inevitable impeachment of President Clinton (the Second).


Numerous Democrats have been jockeying for the position, while party operatives have been trying to push other names. Elizabeth Warren has been set aside, given concerns by the candidate that she would be constantly upstaged by “someone more likable than me.” Bernie Sanders, who gave Hillary a run for her money throughout the campaign before finally throwing in the towel, has been set aside as a possible contender, given the fact that the two dislike each other. Ultimately the task- and perhaps the future presidency- was given to Senator Tim Kaine of Virginia.

It wasn’t just Democrats trying to get the job. Last week, in the midst of the Republican convention, members of the press were summoned to a press conference in New York by an enigmatic invitation alluding to the Democratic Vice Presidency. Gathered together in a hall at the Javits Center, reporters speculated as to who might be trying to make their own bid at the proverbial second chair. Might Joe Biden be making a second go at the job? Or even odder, did Bill Clinton himself want the job? 


Finally a spokesperson came out on stage, calling for the attention of the assembled media.  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming,” the woman said as she stepped up to the podium. “Without further ado, well, here she is. She really needs no introduction, because everyone knows her and loves her.”

The spokesperson stepped aside. Music started to blare- some sort of house music or hip hop; this reporter really can’t tell the difference. And out onto the stage walked a short woman with big hair and orange tanned skin. Reporters gasped, rolled their eyes, and found themselves wondering how a washed up reality show star from Jersey Shore could have managed to assemble them all together under false pretenses.

She was Nicole Polizzi, otherwise known to the world as Snooki.


Waving to the crowd, totally oblivious to the eye rolling, sighs of dismay, and shaking of heads, Snooki strode up to the podium, only to find that she couldn’t see over the top. “Damn it!” she blurted out, reaching up and managing to grab the mike. “Who the **** didn’t put a step stool here like I asked?”

Snooki came out from behind the podium, glared at her spokesperson, who stood at least a foot taller than her, and then faced the media, pasting on her vacant grin with the dimwitted expression in her eyes. “Hey there!” she called out, waving again. “Thanks for coming!”

“Are you just wasting our time?” one reporter inquired of her.


Snooki looked confused. “Why do people keep asking me that?”

“Because it’s a pretty reasonable assumption,” this reporter said.

“Look, no, no ****ing way,” she assured the reporters. “Am I the sort of person who’d waste your time? No, of course not. I mean, what am I, a Kardashian?” This reporter rolled his eyes, wondering what would be more tedious and annoying, sitting through this or sitting through a drunken ramble by one of the Kardashians. “By the way, are we broadcasting live?”


“No, we’re not,” one of the television reporters replied for all of her colleagues, looking at her watch, no doubt wondering, as this reporter was, how long she might have to put up with this sort of nonsense from a washed up MTV star.

“Well you’ll wish you were,” Snooki promised. “Because I’m here to announce my candidacy for the Vice President of the United States, on the Democratic ticket with my BFF Hillary.”

Reporters stifled laughter. One asked, “BFF? Have you ever actually met her?”

Snooki shrugged. “No, but what the **** difference does that make anyway?”


This reporter spoke up. “First of all, under the rules, a Presidential candidate and their team select a Vice Presidential candidate. A person doesn’t just come out of nowhere and say they’re going to name drop themselves as a Vice Presidential candidate. Second, you’re not known for politics. You’re known for a multitude of bad reality shows on a network that used to run music videos, for getting drunk and in trouble, and, to put it mildly, for being an idiot.”

“Hey, guido, don’t you call me names,” Snooki replied.

“Guido?” this reporter challenged the idiot.


“That’s what I call everybody. Guido, wop, douchebag, whatever slang term comes to mind,” Snooki explained. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that I can bring the young beach going Jersey vote to Hillary for the big win in November. All she has to do is say pretty please, Snooki, and promise to let me be president one day out of every week. ‘Cause I’d like to send the Navy SEALS to bust up the Situation’s ass.” She was grinning with maniacal glee, in a way that suggested she wasn’t quite playing with a full deck.

“You can’t be serious,” another reporter objected.


“Of course I am,” Snooki declared. “And you know what else I can do as Vice President. Say Hillary needs Bill outta her hair? I can keep the First Dude distracted. Pretty much the same way Monica kept him distracted. I really am the perfect choice for the job. I’ve got attitude, street smarts, a great rep with all the hip people, and I’ve got orange skin. I can be the anti-Trump. Anyway, that’s my announcement. Hillary, have your people call my people, and we’ll do lunch!”

She left the stage, and reporters found themselves snickering, sighing, shaking their heads, and wondering if they’d woken up in some pocket universe where reality had gone haywire. Of course, with the other party fielding a candidate who’d spent his own years in reality television, the world had already gone haywire long before now.


The last word goes to an unnamed member of the Clinton campaign, a distinguished older fellow using the codename El Cigaro. He laughed off the offer by Snooki. “You know, as much as I’d enjoy being distracted... I mean, as much as Bill would enjoy being distracted by Snooki in that fashion, her bein’ the Vice Presidential candidate? It just isn’t gonna happen. Hillary, or the ol’ ball and chain as I like to call her, shook her head, said something like, Hell no, and then started muttering, my precious, my precious, it’s mine, they stoles it froms us. You know, between you and me and Monica, she might be gettin’ a little bit obsessive about the whole thing. Don’t tell her I said that, okay? She’s got me by the short hairs.”