The Bishop and the Butterfly: Murder, Politics, and the End of the Jazz Age

    No soup for Hillary

    By Ripper on Thu, 05/22/2008 - 4:06am |
    It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to,
    cry if I want to, cry if want to.
    You would cry, too,
    if it happened to you.

    One night many years ago, when I worked in a nursing home, I made the rounds of my hall to check on residents. I had to help one frail old woman to her bathroom. She was a charming but senile woman who had once been a fine librarian As we shuffled over to the bathroom, she suddenly grasped the door and turned to me. "Who's showing this property?" she demanded.

    Someone, please, tell Hillary: She can cry if she wants to, but it isn't her party.

    Someone, please, escort Hillary to the bathroom. But no real estate agent will be showing her the White House this year. Not any year.

    "Now, I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds."

    No soup for you, Hillary. You are not mistress of your domain. You are Elaine dancing on VHS.