Thursday, November 3, 2016
[Posted by Alan Childress]
There was a time when this blog also posted ruminations on policy, culture, and trivia--like that the inventor of canned cranberry sauce was a lawyer, and that Abe Lincoln held a patent. I concede the blog has improved and focused on-point appropriately under Mike Frisch's herculean efforts over the past decade. Yet I hope he'll allow the indulgence of the olden times when I mused and opined. In light of Scooter Libby's reinstatement, politics and nostalgia are not necessarily inapt to the blog. So here is the story I will tell, and then I promise I will take the Forrest Gump approach: that's all I have to say about tha-at.
In the winding-down days of her husband’s administration, First Lady Hillary Clinton was in such a dark place that she called on A Friend—the seer recommended to her by Nancy Reagan. Reading tea leaves, a crystal ball, and tarot cards, Friend immediately predicted that Hillary would run for President someday.
“I’ve been running since I was 14,” Hillary retorted, her shoulders shimmying with the thought. “That proves nothing about your powers.”
“You will be seeking to follow in office … a Kenyan-American with the middle name Hussein. And also George Bush.”
From this point on, Hillary would just be humoring Friend. “Naturally. Do I win?”
“Ask Again Later,” said Friend, after consulting the Magic 8 Ball on this one.
“OK, then, what is my biggest weakness?”
“You are not liberal enough. You get slammed from the Left.”
“Riiiight,” Hillary replied. “That happens to me all the time. Anything else I should worry about?”
“The people are extremely concerned about your ability to keep a secret,” Friend said.
“Have you met me?”
“I’m just saying what the leaves tell me,” Friend defended. “All I know is you may want to ask Al Gore to explain the internet. Anyway, I do see that there will be a great, running controversy over whether Miss Universe is attractive enough.”
“So that’s a big issue in the election?!”
“Hyuuuuge, enormous,” Friend answered, without either woman quite understanding why she drew out the U’s. “Something to do with … Kermit the Frog?”
“You’ve lost me,” Hillary said.
“The good news,” Friend said, “is that I sense you’ll have some moral back-up on the current … unpleasantness. None other than Newt Gingrich will eventually scream at the media to quit being so sex-obsessed and let men be men. Something about locker rooms, or locker buses, and a Bush again—it’s unclear. But Newt will insist it is time we talk about policy instead.”
When hell freezes over and the ice caps melt, Hillary thought. “At least tell me who I run against!”
Friend had a look on her face like she’d just seen an endless stream of future cat videos and goats passing out from their own bleats. The future was grim and perplexing. “Who it is … what I see … just cannot be so. I think I have to send this crystal ball back to the shop.”
“You weren’t a lot of help, honestly. All of that only makes sense in a world where The National Enquirer is treated as more credible than The New York Times. Look, I have to go. I’m picking out new White House china.”
“CHina,” Hillary corrected her, puzzled. “And I’m introducing my assistant Huma to a sweet Congressman I know. They’re both great people, but I think they’ll be stronger together.”
At that, Friend began a fit of coughing, but to Hillary it sort of sounded fake. But Friend just would not stop coughing, like those times when a pretend cough induces an unstoppable wave of real coughs. Hillary thought to herself, “That looks painful. I hope it never happens to me.” And she left the seer, with utter confidence that none of it was true—how could such nonsense ever happen?—except that she certainly would run for President someday. Probably in 2008.