We’ve been visiting some out of town friends this week and, as you might guess, our table talk the other night eventually turned to politics. At one point, the recent comment made by Monica Lewinsky’s boyfriend’s wife about the RFK assassination became the focus of discussion. Despite my giving the remark a sphincter-factor of ten, the testosteroned half of our gracious hosting team said he still wouldn’t count the Clintons out of the presidential race and offered the following pearl of wisdom:
“Whenever I went into the garage to get the car, as I’d raise the door, this little snake would come out of nowhere and slither across my path. She seemed to look right at me, then disappear down the driveway. These antics went on for quite some time, almost as if the creature were trying to taunt me. One day I grew tired of seeing her boldness, picked up a shovel, and chopped the little snake’s head off. To my surprise, the rest of the body, even though headless, slithered off and continued on down the driveway. Just like that snake, Hillary doesn’t know when to quite either!”
So ends Chapter One, Book One of ‘The Bob Parable’. While his story may be open to question, his insight may be worth a second glance. The Clinton War Machine has left a long list of bodies in its wake and, although down, they’re still not out. As wiser men than either my friend or I have pointed out before, “It ain’t over ‘till the fat lady sings”…and, so far, I’ve yet to hear a note from anyone but a green, Black tenor from Chicago.
R.S.F.
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