No one did more than Hillary Rodham Clinton to inflate the boogey-man of a vast right-wing conspiracy while loosing the dogs of a radical-left masscomm.
That was no small public-relations masterpiece the Clinton machine conceived. No media outlet was overlooked by MoveOn.org, MediaMatters.org and such — the coddled creations or surrogates of a planned 16-year Clintonian dynasty.
This is the calculated, calibrated engine that was fueled by, and in turn amplified, the hatred of George W. Bush. The Clintons used it to paint every aspect, every minute detail of the Bush presidency as part of an insidiously evil malignancy that must be scourged from the American body politic. Democratic Party bigwigs in and out of Congress, including black pols and preachers, followed in lockstep. No one profited more than Hillary and hubby Bill.
No one, that is, until an unknown known as Barack Hussein Obama came from Hawaii via Indonesia to Chicago to reap the tainted harvest of what the Clintons had been recklessly sowing all those years.
All was going swimmingly until Obama’s arrival on the scene and his feverish adoption by many who once manipulated the Clintons’ very own puppet show.
Thanks to that even-vaster, left-wing conspiracy, the senator from Illinois — not from New York — was the one swept along in the popularity polls like the latest off-key American Idol and into the Democratic Party caucuses and primaries.
Nothing caricatures this better than a comic routine perfected by the marvelous Carol Channing. Affecting a spraying lisp, she allocuted what happened to a silent-movie goddess en route to everlasting celebrityhood. With each sibilant syllable hiss-whistling, it went something like this (better when read aloud):
“My name is Cecelia Sissons, star of the silent screen. My career was going great guns until talking pictures came along. Suddenly, it hit the skids.”
Thus it happened to Hillary. Along came a spider and sat down beside her. No longer radical enough for her media Merlins, she suddenly hit the skids. They dumped her for a talker, leaving her hoisted on her own leftist, political petard.
As she exits stage left, we hear the haunting melody of Hillita’s fading farewell:
Please weep for me, Clintonistas.
The truth is I never left you.
Through each primary
I changed my image
To what the polls said
You wanted from me.
Don’t gloat at me, Barackistas.
The truth is you came from nowhere.
When it was my next
You took it from me.
Why do this to me?
I barely knew you.
Don’t trash-talk me, Obamistas.
The truth is I’m just one of you.
I always have been.
Now that you’ve ruined me,
I’ll need some new perch
To keep on cackling.
Help rehab me, all you lefties.
The truth is you owe it to me.
You mainstream newsies,
It’s you who made me
In your own image.
Now don’t forsake me.
Say what you will, vast right-wingers.
The sad truth, I still have Bubba.
Or did the last time
I thought I saw him.
He owes me big-time,
That big-mouth loser.
John L. Perry, a prize-winning newspaper editor and writer who served on White House staffs of two presidents, is a regular columnist for Newsmax.com.
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