A bit too high-profile for someone who still claims to be making up her mind? Could she have gone to some small-town venue instead? I don’t think Hillary can do off-Broadway, given that the Democratic nomination is hers for the taking. Those same 200 reporters who were herded behind a barrier, waiting for her to grill some steak, would treat any Clinton appearance as red meat.
As I was reading the article, I remember thinking how strange it was that I hadn't fallen asleep. I mean, "I don't feel no ways tired." You see, I suffer from a rare form of narcolepsy that only seems to manifest itself when confronted with a story about Hillary Cli... *yawn*.. Zzzzzz
Cue wavy lines for the upcoming blog dream sequence...
There I was in the steak line, and in full disguise as a democrat donor. I looked with pity at the other mainstream reporters "herded behind the barriers" like common WWII veterans, and thought to myself, "It's good to be deep-cover Chattering Teeth blog reporter!"
I don't want to describe my wardrobe like I did in yesterday's blog, but let's just say that when you looked at me, I "screamed other people's money."
The line moved forward until finally I stood before none other than Hillary Clinton, the presumptive heir to the throne. She thrust out her spatula and asked:
HILLARY: How do you like your steak sir?
DaBlade: How about a nice, plump cut. heavily marbeled. A red center so rare that it practically moos when they stick a fork in it.
BILL: Ahh! You mean the Monica cut! Honey, don't forget to throw a thick tomato slice on top like a beret!
DaBlade: I don't mean to complain ma'am, but that pre-cooked monstrosity of a steak you're holding is a little overdone for my tastes. In fact, its burned beyond recognition. What do you call that, the Benghazi special? You just leave that steak on the coals and ignore it's pleas for help?
I wake up face down at my desk in a small pool of cold drool. I think to myself, I would rather stay here than picnic with Hillary Clin.... *yawn* Zzzz