The Sunday Memory Drawer - A Political Memory

This Sunday Memory comes from some mental meandering I did the other night when I was briefly watching the election coverage of the New York State Primary.   Okay, if you think I'm going to take a political side here, you're wrong.   As seasoned readers here know, I pretty much hate all politicians regardless of where they sit on the aisle.  The last fifty years have been a cesspool of leadership from which America will likely never recover.

But let's think about one of the asswipes running in 2016 to replace the current asswipe living in the White House.

I got pretty incensed during the primary coverage when one media nabob after another was talking about how Hillary Clinton had won her home state of New York

What the what???

Okay, folks, let's be real here.  She's not a New Yorker.   Never has been.  Never will be.   Logical people know that the only reason she moved to New York State was that she knew it was the only state where she could get elected to the Senate easily.   After all, it was all about the agenda set by her and her neanderthal husband back in the mid 90s.   This would be her time to shine as payment for the hubby fucking anything that moved in front of him for ten seconds.   That is it.  And, oh, by the way, people I know tell me he hasn't changed his ways.   No female Starbucks barista is apparently safe in the environs of upper Westchester County.

Um, there's a reason why Chelsea is an only child.

But I remember this week that I was onto this fraud a long, long time ago.  Back when I was still living in Yonkers.   Cue the flashback music machine.

Actually, the memory starts a little while before that.  Back when Big Bill was first running to be President.   At that time, I had a very, very good friend who was toiling in the political world.   He has since seen Jesus and cleaned himself up.   But, back then, my pal was telling me all the stuff you don't hear on the Nightly News.

Somewhere in the hinterlands of America, Big Bill was on a campaign tour.   And those whistle stops frequently turned into booty calls.   If the candidate saw somebody he liked in the front row, he would have his pimps AKA the Secret Service invite her back for a...ahem...personal meeting.

Well, imagine Big Bill's surprise when, on one particular afternoon, the cute girl presented to him was the daughter of Ron Brown, who happened to be the guy running the Democratic National Committee at the time.

Ooops.  Eggs on all faces.  Enough to make a frittata big enough to feed East Los Angeles.

Well, I always remembered that delicious little tale.   And I particularly recalled it when, several years later, Brown was on Clinton's cabinet and was horribly killed in a plane crash.

In those days, I was a Nordic Track-aholic at Court Sports in New York.   I was there three nights a week on that machine around 630PM.   As I was "skiing," I'd watch one of the national anchors tell me the news of the day.  And there, as I stared up at the screen that evening, cameras showed me the poignant meeting where Big Bill and Hilarity Clinton made a condolence call to the Brown home.   And my jaw dropped as I saw Big Bill give him a caressing hug to Brown's daughter.  As Hilarity watched...

And that, for me, solidified my view of pretty much every politician in America. They are all con artists and frauds and killers of life as we used to know it.

Of course, Hilarity knew all about that dalliance.  If I knew about it, she sure did.   And that's the main reason why I would never vote for her.

I'm sure there are other memories that will give me reasons why I will never vote for Trump, Cruz, Kasich, and Sanders as well.

Dinner last night:  The salad bar at Souplantation.