Hillary Clinton injured while on a Seal Team Recon into Iran

January 1, 2013

“Hillary Clinton injured while on a Seal Team Recon into Iran”

Silly, right? Even stupid, if for no other reason than she would need a block and tackle to get her fat ass into an attack helicopter. Gravity would get her out. A Sidewinder missile would have to be strapped to each cheek of her ample arse to get her off the ground. When she retires she could do some Brazilian Butt ads. She would make a perfect Before picture.

Because there is no way other than an opium den, bad acid flashback that anything approaching that could have happened is why we need a Congressional investigation.

The country needs to know, to know beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Hillary Clinton did not don a ghillie suit, that she did not have her Gurkha kukri honed so sharp that it could cut itself, that she did not have a cut down 22 inch Remington “trench sweeper” in her ditty bag, that she did not have pound of bacon fat that she would use so as to avoid waterboarding, that she did not have blowup dolls of Barbara Mikulski to throw at any advancing Dervishes, Whirling or otherwise, that she did not have buttons with myriad languages shouting RESET on them, that she did not threaten to sit on the captured Yobama Bahama Salama’s face to get secret info from him….Jeezuz Haitch Keerist! Talk about the Geneva Convention. Talk about torture. Imagine looking up seeing that! I’d give it all up in a friggin’ heartbeat. Truly a fate worse than death. If word got out it would have led to a ban on bearded clams.

Gary Sick, a properly named author, wrote a book titled “The October Surprise”. It was published in 1992.

It had a plot simple enough for a child to follow; to wit: In late October, 1980, Vice Presidential candidate George Bush took an afternoon off from campaigning to play tennis. He snookered his Secret Service detail, the Washington press corps, and all the national TV snoops and went to Andrews Air Force Base. There he flew to Paris on the Black Bird, a SR71. Since it could fly at more than 3,000MPH he got there before he took off. He met Mohammed M. Muhamed, the power behind Big Boss Man Khomieni and cut a deal on the American hostages. They were to be kept locked up until Reagan was inaugurated and boob Carter’s sorry sad-sacked ass was heading back to Bug Fug, GA. The deal was sealed in a Rive Gauche bistro called Le Grande Frog. Veal paillard from tortured cows, a bit of foie grais, obviously from tortured geese, was washed down by a 1975 Talbot and History was made. Bush got in the plane – not “on” the plane and a thank you to George Carlin - and flew back to Andrews. Once there he donned his preppy tennis whites, threw the obligatory Brooks Brothers sweater over his shoulders, and headed home. With skill and cunning he managed to avoid the Secret Service and ABC, CBS, and NBC. When he got home he told Barbara that he was having trouble with his backhand and that he needed a few Tylenols,

Honest. You could look it up.

It worked. Never argue with a canceled check.

Speaker of the House Tom-Tom Foley, second in line to the Presidency of the United States, said in 1992 that we must have an investigation. When asked why, he said, “We must have an investigation precisely because there is no evidence”.

Honest. That’s what he said. “You can”, as Casey Stengel used to say, “Look it up.”

Somehow the thought of Hillary Clinton, after making sure that the sharp end went up the breech first, then biting the throat out of a sleeping sentry and sticking some bacon fat into the hole to stop the gurgling and to send a message to the others, ain’t so far fetched, is it?

It’s time for Speaker Boehner to get his Mojo back. He is Speaker of House of Representatives. Should both Obama and Biden go down fighting enemies both foreign and domestic he would wind up in the Oval Office. The Air Force officer sitting outside his office carries an attaché case known as the “Football”. When it is opened the President can send out coded instructions that will turn the world into molten glass. That’s what he could do then.

What he can do now is to subpoena Mrs. Clinton and ask her, under oath, under TV lights, with a nasty bastard lawyer asking her for her version of the events that led to her concussion, an injury that was diagnosed by her press flack, and subsequent blood clot. He/She could ask what the threshold number of dead Americans should be for the President to call it something other than “a bit of sloppiness”. The bar is now set at 4 murdered Americans. Would 12 make it something else?

My New Year’s resolution is to shed my Mr. Nice Guy image. I have to start somewhere.




KEVIN SMITH
WARRIORBARDIT@BELLSOUTH.NET