When you twist your own knickers in a bunch, nobody wants to hear you complain about having a wedgie. That’s the position the Democrats are in now. “Waaahhhh, We were the ones with the vapid rock star first! They copied!” Ha, ha, ha.
Shoulda thought about that a long time ago, Dr. Deanenstein and Frau Nancy Blucher. You’re the ones who gave the rabid Clinton Derangement Syndrome suffering “Anybody But Hillary” lunatic fringe free reign while you allowed your creation to traipse around the country like a real boy playing dress-up in the Emperor’s see-through suit. Now you want to complain because the McCain camp has given your monster a Lilith-like bride. Ha, ha, again.
Sarah Palin ripped big chunks from Barack Obama’s political flesh, chewed them up, and spit them out, all the while gracefully doing the Dance With Who Brung Ya backwards and in high heels.
Your pathetic little formula was so obvious and easy to copy. It only worked a little bit in the primaries, but you’re too power-lust crazed to realize that once Hillary and Co. realized what you were up to, she cleaned your clock nine ways to Sunday, even with both hands tied behind her back. By you. And your Republican mole, Donna Brazile, who along with her crew, kept the Rove playbook working overtime. You scrambled, thugged and mugged your way across the finish line, barely ahead, dragging your wounded, limping creation behind you and thought you had gotten away clean. What a schmoo.
Oh, yeah, Dr. Deanestein, your little theory worked. Even better than you hoped. That was your undoing. Drunk with the success of the midterm elections in ‘06, you thought you and your guy were ready for the big, “Puttin’ on the Ritz” tour, so you ramped up your plans and rushed off half-cocked, just like you did in your own presidential run. Good plan, lousy execution, Deanenstein trademark.
Your scheme is so transparent, so easy to copy, are you really surprised that an old warhorse like McCain borrowed the formula, Deanenstein? His feminized, Stepford-influenced clone is going to reduce your Emperor Pinocchio to a puddle and walk all over him without even taking off her glasses.
And there’s nothing you can do about it.
Bwahahaaaa, my ass.
PUMA
Just Say No Deal
