the War on Babies

So. . .

Obama and Clinton Brace For a Long-Distance Run

If Clinton had gone for the baby vote, like I told her to, this would be over by now. She could be resting on her laurels for a little while, having some cuddle time with Bill, and gearing up for the next race, against John McCain.

By the time a Democrat actually gets a nomination and then, maybe, to the Whitehouse, he or she is going to be too exhausted to lead effectively (ok, they're Democrats, so they probably wouldn't have led effectively as it is). There's going to be some George W. Bush style month long vacationing on the schedule for next January 21 to April 30, and then it will be time to run for reelection.

super duper

Well, it's super Tuesday. Yay votes.
If you're a racist sexist member of the Democratic party, good luck. I suggest you vote for Hillary, since white women have the ability to make more white men. If you're not racist or sexist, vote for Obama, because he's got nice teeth, and that works when judging horses, right?

Right now, Huckabee's winning in Alabama, Arkansas, Georgia, Missouri, Tennessee and West Virginia. Yup, he's definitely got the backwards nutjob vote locked up.

Obama's got Connecticut, now. That whole idea that he can only win in black states is out the window. So, the good news is that, when a whole state votes for a half-white man, he can still win with 50% of the vote. That's the math, right?

Will Bill Shill for Hill? ps rhyming is dumb

Jake Tapper is an ABC News Senior National Correspondent. Jake Tapper is also a blogger. Jake Tapper writes Political Punch, which is both a blog, and the imaginary name of a disgusting drink that i just imagined in my imagination.

Recently, Political Punch made the point that the "dream team" Clinton-Obama ticket that Hillary talks up is more of a fantasy team, because everybody wants to see them having sex, and becasue the chance of that happening are about the same as them sharing a ticket.

Of course, another option is to name Bill as her VP. The upside of this is that they already have experience campaigning together, and, when issues of national security dictate that Bill be in a separate, undisclosed location, he'll be just fine with that. The downside is mostly for Hillary, since I expect that Bill will find a way to have her impeached so he regain his office. That would be hot.

My dinner with Novak

We begin with wine. Or, I begin with wine, and Bob jokes about how his glass is filled with the blood of the innocent. We laugh and toast each other.

We feel at ease right away, talking about the movies of the day (I liked Goodnight, and Goodluck. He preferred Norbit), and our favorite yoga positions (I blushed as he described his plow pose). After one glass of wine, Bob and I share a bowl of kalamata olives. Bob talks about how much he likes that word, “ka-la-ma-ta.” He lisps it out in a sultry voice. Our hands touch in the grease at the bottom of the bowl. Bob’s mouth contorts around an olive pit as I tease him about how I thought all the language stuff was under William Safire’s purview.

He spits the seed into his hand. Snarling, “Safire can suck it!” he stands and walks away. I wait. I hope he has just gone to the bathroom. I sweat a little, and try not to be afraid. He can smell my fear, so he comes back.

Bob and I eat Duck Confit with pommes sarlardaise. The meat is succulent. The fatty meet leaks between his teeth as he talks about the good old days when Republicans ran the whol government. He makes fun of Woodward, Tim Russert, my mother, Democrats in general, and the Clintons in specific.

We work through the duck. As Bob leans forward to make a point about how much of a “truth-distorting douchebag” Howard Dean really is, I lean in to kiss him. I see his eyes widen as our lips briefly slide together, lubricated by the duck grease and my concupiscense. For a minute, I think he’ll succumb.
Then, he pushes me away.
“Well, I think that’s bullshit, and I hate that…. Just let me go”
He tells me he’s not that kind of guy. And I pretend to understand.

Bob Novak walks out of my life. I am left with a $600 dollar tab, a pile of half-chewed duck meat, and a broken heart.