Obama Was Asked About Clinton Picks
From the Iowa debate on December 13, 2008:
Moderator: Senator Obama, you have Bill Clinton’s former national security advisor, state department policy director, and navy secretary, among others, advising you. With relatively little foreign policy experience of your own, how will you rely on so many Clinton advisors and still deliver the kind of break from the past that you are promising voters?”
Mrs. Clinton: (Laughing) I want to hear that.
Mr. Obama: Well, Hillary, I’m looking forward to having you as an advisor as well. I want to gather up talent from everywhere.
This is a good reminder of just how long Mr. Obama has been a footpad to the Clinton team, if not the Clintons themselves.
But it is certainly understandable.
He doesn’t know anything or anyone on his own.
You can only put in so many fellow community organizers and Harold Washington staffers before people begin to laugh.
(Thanks to OneAmericanCitizen for the heads up.)
Harold Washington-now that’s a blast from an unhappy past. What a loser-he makes Richie Daley look like quite the mayor.
Well, seems that the messiah can also fortell the future-Mr. Obama: Well, Hillary, I’m looking forward to having you as an advisor as well. I want to gather up talent from everywhere.
Two things-how long will the moonbats let him get away with this and secondly how long before Bubba decides he isn’t playing by the messiah’s rules anymore.
This is a great blast from the past. Listening to Hillary cackle is worth the price of admission. Isn’t her smugness so entertaining? Despite the electoral disappointment we are all forced to endure, one slim glimmer of happiness emerges: Hillary ends up defeated in a year when it was supposed to be ALL ABOUT HER.
I love it!
One thing–the date above the clip says Dec 13, 2008. It was obviously from last year, 2007.
THANK YOU, DEAR LEADER; a Story of Hope and Change presents “Meal of Mystery!”
“Et pour vous, cher Monsieur le Président-Elect, a treat most éspecial, created éspecialemente pour vous et votre belle Madame Michelle par notre top Chef – I present to you ze nouveau specialitié de la maison; a leetle somezing we call… Pork Obama – voila!”
Pierre, head waiter at Chicago’s trendiest eatery “L’Aigle Brun” (the Brown Eagle, formerly The Veal Crate) whipped away the gleaming silver cover as Barack and Michelle gasped.
“Wha – what is that, exactly?” choked Barack.
“Behold – a deesh which combines ze best of cuisine contemporaire avec ze potent symbols of votre victoire historique !” enthused Pierre. “Magnifique!”
“Potent cymbals?” wondered Barack. “I don’t hear anything”.
“’Symbols’, Barry –with an S” corrected Michelle. “The literal or concrete representation of invisible abstract concepts”.
“Oh, okay. Right”.
“Pork Obama” described Pierre “Un entire hog, roasted to perfection in ze reech soil of Ilinois (symbol de votre trés beau birthplace, Hawaii et de votre adopted home, Cheecago), avec a fried golden eagle in its mouth (symbol de les Etats-Unis, wheech you have conquered avec votre positive message of hope and change) ze inside stuffed avec cheese lasagne (l’option végetarienne), resting upon a bed of lobster and melted Hershey bars (pour un exciting conniption of contrasting flavours); ze entire presentation dripping with honey glaze – as honeyed as your tongue, cher Monsieur – and rainbow jimmies – weeth a cherry and a leetle flag upon ze top!”
“Oh my gosh” gagged Michelle. “Oh my gosh. Is there a healthy option?”
“Vell – we could remove ze cherry”.
“That’s, um, great, Pierre” mollified Barack. “Trés bong. I’m deeply honoured. Please tell Chef ‘Mercy’ on my behalf. It’ll taste great, I’m sure. Say, could we have some more of this delicious wine?”
“Train Nocturne’? But of course – I shall fetch anozzer bottle at once” grovelled Pierre.
“Train what?”
“It means ‘Night Train’ in French, Barry” snapped Michelle.
“Oh, okay. Right”.
“Well, I’m not eating that…thing” muttered Michelle.
“Oh, come on honey” urged Barack. “They made it éspecial for us”.
“Humppff”.
“Come on – just a little bite” coaxed the man likened to Lincoln and Roosevelt by publications likened to Pravda. “Just one bite”.
Barack’s fork, dripping with pork, made its way toward Michelle’s clenched jaws.
“Brrmmm brrmmm…here comes the airplane. Open up the hangar door…”
Meanwhile, from behind the nearby kitchen door a bloodshot, blue-contact lensed eye peered out and watched, as eyes do.
Attached to the eye was another eye, likewise contact lensed and a face, thickly covered in foundation. The face was part of a head, pumpkin like and grossly swollen, which sat atop a body, similarly swollen, especially in the rear, clad in chef’s whites and a canary yellow pantsuit.
Her talon clutched a little bottle marked “Poison! You Should Definitely Not Drink This. No Kidding!”
Since this was America, the same message was repeated in Spanish: “¡”Veneno! Usted no Debería Beber Definitivamente Este. ¡Ninguna Broma!”
Upon the figure’s disappointing chest a golden badge gleamed: “Madame Secretary of State (Señora el Ministro de Asuntos Exteriores)” it read.
“Yeah, open the hangar – and die!” sneered the watching figure. “Die!”
Uh oh! Will Michelle open her hangar? Who can the mysterious watcher be? Isn’t it against President Barbarella Osama’s religion to eat pork? Find out when THANK YOU, DEAR LEADER returns!
Here,Here to the admin. The minute he started appointing these people I said to myself, this is nothing but a Clinton re-do. From the very beginning and it wouldn’t stop. Natrually you save the best for last. If she’s the best Good Lord! He just doesn’t know anybody.
How can this happen to our country? I really do hope. Hoping and praying that Our fine Pres. Bush didn’t have to leave. Say what you want about him,not articulate enough, not conserv. enough, not the charisma Reagan had, whatever. You know what I just felt a little bit better knowing he was around. History will remember him well. Maybe on Jan.19th we can all pay a little tribute here and there to him. He never did anything to anybody. He just loved his country! Now if Mr. Pres. Popularity can show half an inch of this, well I’m willing to be reasonable. But he has to show it and it has to be real, not NBC real, lover of country real. Give it a try OB and see what happens.
THANK YOU, DEAR LEADER; a Story of Hope and Change continues with Part Two of “Meal of Mystery”!
Outside, the Only Man Who Didn’t Vote for Obama scuttled with a furtive, haunted step along the frozen sidewalks of Chicago.
Men, clutching their commemorative plates, pointed at him and muttered oaths and angry threats. Dogs snarled and strained on their leashes. Mothers pulled their children back and covered their innocent little eyes.
“Don’t look, Timmy! Don’t look at the bad, dirty man!”
Inside, the hungry eyes of Hillary Clinton (for who else could it be?) watched as the unknowing Barack tried to feed Michelle the perfidiously poisoned pork. The gleaming fork hung suspended before the First Spouse’s lips, adamant in their refusal.
“Come on, honey” coaxed the clean and articulate quasi-divinity. “Eat it up”.
“Go ahead…eat it all up! Eat it up and die!” Hillary hissed. “Come on! Don’t keep me waiting!”
“Hi Hill! What up?”
“Joe! Oh my gosh – you made me jump!” exclaimed Hillary, quickly hiding the lethal bottle behind her back.
Vice – President Elect Joseph Robinette Biden, for so it was, grinned in that goofy trying-too-hard-to-be-friendly way of his.
“Nice to see you, Hillary. What’re you doing here?”
“Um, nothing. Nothing at all. What are you doing here?”
“Er, I too am doing nothing” lied Joe, dropping the loaded syringe into a jacket pocket.
“Well…fine. Carry on, then”.
“I will. You, um, carry on too”.
“I will”.
“Okay”.
“Hi guys!” interrupted yet another voice. “Whatcha doing?”
“John Kerry! What are you doing here?” exclaimed the astonished progressives.
“Um, nothing. Nothing at all” said the shellac-haired traitor, stuffing the blow pipe and quiver of poison darts down his pants leg. “Why do you ask?”
“Er, no reason”.
“Well…fine. I am doing nothing as well”.
“As are we”.
“Good”.
“Colleagues, colleagues” said Hillary “We’re all gentlemen, aren’t we? Our party has always stood for candour and truth, so let us not dissimulate. We can be honest about why we’re here, lurking in this darkened kitchen with the cooks and staff drugged and tied up in the corner, spying on America’s First Couple, can’t we? We can explain all of this, right?”
“Um…not exactly” stammered Joe. “Er, maybe not” gulped John.
“Sure we can! We’re here because of our boundless admiration for the man who has captured the hearts of both our party and of America, right? We just can’t get enough of him!”
“We can’t?”
“No, we can’t! We’re not here because we’re plotting anything or hoping for some misfortune to befall him which would enhance our own positions. The idea! We’re not barbarians. We have nothing but love in our hearts for this upstart – this statesman – and there is no place within us for the burning heat of anger or the harsh taste of bitterness or…disappointment. Cruel, cruel disappointment…”
Hillary’s voice kind of trailed off there.
“You said it ,Hillary” enthused Joe. “We love the guy! That’s our story and I’m sticking with it”.
“Me too” chimed in John.
“Well, fine” said Hillary. “I suppose there’s no harm if we just hang around for a few more minutes, feasting our eyes on them, so to speak. See if they keel over in agony. I mean…enjoy their meal. Yeah, that’s it. Their last meal”.
The six eyes of the disappointed Democrats now turned toward the unsuspecting couple. Their breath caught in their throats as…
Wow! Cliffhanger city, huh? Tune in tomorrow for the thrilling conclusion (if I can think of one).
THANK YOU, DEAR LEADER; a Story of Hope and Change presents the conclusion of “Meal of Mystery”!
As a grateful nation grinned happily at the “warm smile and kind of eyes” (or is it the other way around?) of the Dear Leader that gleamed at them from the thousands of Commemorative Plates (as seen on TV!) which cluttered its walls, cabinets and desktops and as the unwary Barack and Michelle prepared to tuck into their poisoned meal and as Hillary, Joe and John held their breath in suspenseful anticipation…
“You miserable pig!” screamed Pierre the head waiter, slapping the hapless wine steward’s face “How could you (slap) allow zis (slap) to happen?! (slap slap slap). “How could you let us run out of Train Nocturne? You know it is le plus favourite wine of cher Monsieur le Président-Elect?”
“Désolé, mon chef” snivelled Marcel. “Désolé! I shall reorder at once!”
“Trop tard, fool! Too late! I must find a substitute acceptable to heez Cheecago standards –and queeckly. Plus vite!”
“Perhaps ze Chateau Margaux ($400)? Or ze St-Emillion ($550)? Or ze Lafitte Rothschild Pauillac ($600)?”
“Such trash! Non, non and non! Nozzing but ze best pour Monsieur Miracle – I shall bring him ze ‘Oiseau de Tonnerre’!”
“Mon Dieu!”
“Do eet, pig!”
**
“Great Foster’s Ghost! What’s the holdup?” snarled Hillary. “Why won’t they eat?”
“Yeah!” echoed Joe.
“Yeah, yeah” re-echoed John.
**
“Well, if you don’t want any I’ll just tuck in” said Barack.
“Fine” muttered Michelle, her arms folded tightly. “You do that”.
“I will”.
“Okay”.
**
“Here we go” whispered Hillary. “Making history one more time…”
**
“This sure looks good” said Barack, piling his plate high. “I could eat a horse”.
“There’s probably one in there if you dig deep enough” murmured his irate consort.
“Ah, Monsieur et Madame Président-Elect!” fluttered Pierre. “A million pardons pour ze delay. I have brought a special wine – ‘Oiseau Tonnere’ – to accompany your meal. On ze house of course!”
“Of course” said Barack. “‘Wawso dee Ton Air’? What’s that?”
“’Oiseau de Tonnerre’. It means ‘Thunder Bird’, Barry” scolded Michelle. “You monolingual dope”.
“Shall I pour?” inquired Pierre, unscrewing the cap.
“May wee! Tray bong!” said Barack, demonstrating his mastery of languages, while Michelle sniffed disdainfully. “Fill ‘er up!” she said, holding out her glass, which Pierre filled with practised skill.
“Well, here’s to me – to us, honey!” said Obama, raising his glass.
“Whatever” said Michelle, draining hers.
**
“Oh, crud” Hillary groaned. “That’s the wrong wine! I never put anything in that one. Did either of you, by any chance, you know…add anything to that one?
“Nuh unh” said Joe.
“Unh nuh” said dyslexic John.
“Well, maybe. Kinda. Sorta. Possibly” said a new voice. The murderous trio wheeled around.
“You!” they gasped. “Nancy!”
“Hi kids!” grinned Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi. “It’s always the one you least expect, isn’t it?”
“But why? What’s in this for you?” wondered Hillary, as Joe and John nodded in puzzlement.
“Have you ever read this ‘Constitution’ thing? No? You should; its way interesting” advised Nancy. “According to this, if the President and the Vice-President die or are “unable to perform their duties” the President becomes…”
“Oh no!”
“Unh huh. Yours truly. First female Prez. Cool huh? Better than you could do, Hill”.
“Except everyone’s still alive” said John, who never missed a trick. “You didn’t think of that!”
“Yes, they are” said Nancy, with a little smile. “And alive they’ll stay – but in a coma so deep it’ll make Ariel Sharon look hyperactive”.
They could hear sudden cries of alarm from outside. A quick glanced showed the First Couple face down in ‘Pork Obama’, surrounded by shouting waiters and Secret Service guys.
“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” mumbled Hillary. “Uh oh” gurgled Joe, suddenly remembering he was VP. “Uh oh” and then he keeled over. “Not me!” wailed John. “I’m nobody! I’m nothing!”
“True, but you always bugged me, John; so, nighty night” said Nancy and the lanky New Englander hit the floor.
“What about me?” choked Hillary. “You didn’t…”
“Naaah” said Nancy, draping an arm over Hillary’s shoulders. “Don’t sweat it. We’re pals, right? Say, listen: are you familiar with the concept of a ‘cabinet of rivals’?”
WoW, StillarboyUSA, That was some story. It’s amazingly true. It reminds me of Rush’s sarcasim with that touch of comedy. Brilliant. I think contributors like you will help me see it through. I logged in a day or so ago very depressed about these appointments, the Clinton-redo as I call it, and with our fine Pres. Bush soon to be just a memory, I can’t take it really. But when I see smart people seeing it too, but with a little humor, it goes a long way. All the way to 2012 I hope. Hey how about that. Maybe we can hope for the best. Keep the smart funnies coming. Roses are red violets are pink if I had writing talent like you I wouldn’t have to drink. Have a good one!!
Well, thanks for the kind words bl. Its that kind of appreciation which makes life worth clinging to in this dark, Obama-ridden days.