The Clinton Wiretaps, Volume IV

As the race between the Hereditary Monarch and the Hope Guy continues, the Crowned Head turns to her Beloved, Bill, for advice and counsel:


HIM:  Hey, Sugar!  I’m campaigning in Kentucky, making sure my little filly doesn’t end up like Eight Belles.

HER:  We’re not supposed to raise race, but did you notice that the winning horse was called “Big Brown?”  We can’t get a break.

HIM:  I tried to get them to name one of the horses for you, Sweetpea, but “(W)itch On Wheels” was already taken.

HER:  I don’t have time for your yucks, (bleep)hole.  You’d better be calling with proof that you’re “the best strategist” I have.  I’ve yet to see it.

HIM:  Listen, Sunshine.  I’ve performed more miracles on this campaign than Jesus did in all of Galilee.  

HER:  Quit the martyr act.  What have you got for me?

HIM:  OK, here’s the deal, baby.  You’re sinking like a stone.  All of our so-called “friends” are running for the hills.  The money’s drying up faster than Dan Rather’s job offers.  I figure we’ve got one last Hail Mary pass to throw.

HER:  What do you suggest?

HIM:  That you come out as a lesbian.

HER:  You (bleep)hole.  You know I can’t do that until I’ve ended my second two terms as president.  Get real.

HIM:  Don’t like that one?  OK.  Try this one on for size:  we put Reverend Wright on the payroll.

HER:  Continue.

HIM:  We’ve got that secret “dirty tricks” fund, right?  Well, how about using some of that dough to pay Wright to make more crazy speeches?  We’ll even toss in bonuses if he goes the full Louis Farrakhan.

HER:  Not bad.  And how about further incentivizing him by dangling a trip to Hawaii or somewhere  if he goes on and on about how close he and Obama are.  Maybe we can get him to embellish a bit, you know, get him talking about how Obama was stomping his feet and clapping in church to the anti-American stuff?

HIM:  Well, he may be full-on nuts, but he’s still a man of the cloth, Honey.  Not sure he’ll go for lying.

HER:  Are you kidding?  Everybody has a price.  Do it.  What else have you got?

HIM:  I’ve got a coupla other Hail Marys in my bag of tricks.

HER:  How can you find them amidst the “adult toys?”

HIM:  Gotta pick up new batteries.  OK, check this out, Sister.  Obama is scheduling a “victory” rally for May 20, when he’s expected to get the number of elected delegates he needs, right?  So, on that day, WE throw our own competing rally:  “Not so fast, Mr. Hope n’ Change.”

HER:  Finally, a use for that brain other than plotting how to get into Scores unseen.

HIM:  Then, on June 3, after the last primary, Obama will be the presumptive nominee.  Everybody will be feting him and blowing us off.  So here’s what we do:  you “suspend” the campaign.  Not end it.  Suspend it.  That way, we can stop the financial hemorrhaging while we get our Tonya Hardings in place.

HER:  You still think Blumenthal and Ickes are up to it?

HIM:  They ain’t rusty, baby.

HER:  So, during the “suspension,” what do we do?

HIM:  We go to the delegates and try to get them to come back to us, by laying out all of the big states and swing states we’ve won and the popular vote victory we’ll have by then, with Florida and Michigan.  If that doesn’t work, then we have Blumenthal and Ickes prepare for a floor fight at the convention.  At the same time, we’ve got Wright out there, telling everybody that Obama doesn’t believe in America.

HER:  Go on.

HIM:  Here’s the coup de grace, Snookems.  If we don’t persuade enough delegates to flip, then we threaten to run you as an Independent.

HER:  OMG!  Genius!

HIM:  I know.  Now look:  there is a money problem.  But we only have to hold out the threat of an Independent run to force Obama to give us the Vice Presidency.

HER:  The Democratic party is screwing us, so why not screw the party?

HIM:  Exactly.  By the way, I love all of this pundit B.S. that you’re going to “exit gracefully for the sake of the party!!”

(Both fall on the floor laughing.)

HER:  I know!  If they all really believe that, they’re on crack.

HIM:  I hope you’re not too attached to that (D) after your name.

HER:  Screw the (D)!  I’d even learn to love an (R) after my name if I thought it could win me the White House back. 

HIM:  I’ll get you there.  It’s MY legacy too, you know.  Like I’ve always told you, we’re in this together, Sunshine.  For better or for worse, as long as we both shall live.