Hillaryzilla

I love it when African-American men stand up for what is right and good and decent in this country. That’s why Michael Nutter, Philadelphia’s courageous new mayor, has a “Hillary” sticker on his car. He’s a really ‘Penn Pal.’

Michael is also something of a character and a gifted conversationalist, if not a little out of touch with reality. True, he thinks I have the best chance to win against John McCain in the November general election, but his math is faulty. Or, his ego overshadows Pennsylvania’s prominence in the elections. I don’t know how he plans to do it, but Michael thinks he can give me Philadelphia’s large African-American vote.

His math doesn’t work for me. So far, over 80-percent of all African-American’s have voted for Barack Obama, and less than 20-percent for me.

Michael says, “This notion that somehow there is a monolithic black vote is just a myth.” Maybe yes, maybe no, but so far they’ve voted as rather solid block of voters. Against me.

It’s probably a good thing that most blacks aren’t Catholic.

Campaigning is an endless loop of faces and handshakes and questions and seldom enough time to go to the bathroom. About 10:30 this morning I told Maggie Williams that I needed a break. She agreed and we called a halt to glad handing and headed to the bathroom.

We both peered into the mirror at the same time, looking for any new wrinkles, ready to pat down a shiny spot. “Maggie,” I said, “What’s Obama’s appeal to white women?”

She looked at me the same way Oprah looks at someone before delivering a one-word punch line, and said, “Elvis.”

“Elvis,” I said? “Sure, Obama’s a good speaker, even charismatic, but he’s no Elvis.”

Maggie said, “He’s more Elvis than you think. The Elvis Factor is all about forbidden fruit. Why do you think all those white teenage girls in the 50s and 60s bought records of black singers? Forbidden fruit. White women long to know about black men.”

“So,” I said, “Obama gets white women to vote for him because of some sort of primal instinct?”

Maggie rolled her eyes as if I’d been given a free ride on the clue bus, then she put her hand on my arm, and pulled me close and said, “Honey, what you don’t know about men could fill a book.”

She’s right, of course. Maggie is always right.

Bill picked up an advance copy of another in the string of newspaper articles to discredit me, and lift Barack Obama on a pedestal. The New York Times is the latest newspaper to take a look at the behind-the-scenes management of a Clinton campaign for President.

What’s to see? It’s almost as if they dug through their old files and came up with articles they did back in 1992. Old news. New news. Made up news. They don’t know the difference. Change the names.

To be honest, management of anything complex, whether it’s a government or a state or a presidential campaign, is just a matter of hiring the right people. They do the work, the boss gets the credit. That’s how it works. Bill did it in Arkansas. He did it in the White House. Everyone knows Al Gore did most of the day-to-day details there anyway.

Howard knows what I like. Hire smart people, let them argue, I play referee. They’re smart people so no matter what they decide all I have to do is pick a different side each time. They’re happy. I’m happy.

Management schmanagement. It just isn’t that difficult.

Maybe he’s tired. Maybe he just doesn’t care. Maybe his Alzheimer’s is kicking in. Whatever it is, Bill is fresh out of ideas.

His latest trip to the looney farm was a stunner. Even Mark Penn didn’t know what to say. When Maggie Williams heard Bill’s idea she snorted coffee through her nose.

We’re all sitting around Friday night working on strategy and tactics and Bill stands up, walks around the room, then, almost too quiet for anyone to hear, “Offer the vice president’s spot to Obama.”

Terry McAuliffe asked him to repeat it so everyone could hear. “Offer the second spot on the ticket to Obama,” Bill said again, louder.

I looked at Terry, then Maggie, who was wiping coffee off her dress. I think it was coffee. She was giggling like crazy, so maybe it was something else. Who drinks coffee late at night? It was some kind of brown liquid.

“Bill, honey,” I said, “There are a few issues that we have to contend with before we begin to think about a running mate. For example, we’re behind in pledged delegates and won’t be able to make up delegates even if we win all the rest of the primaries.”

Sometimes it’s difficult to keep a straight face when Bill comes up with these crazy ideas. Bill walked around the room again, took a sip of whatever was in Maggie’s glass, and dropped the corner of his lips. I can always tell when he’s too full of it. He drops the corner of his lips just before he talks.

“It’ll work,” Bill said. “Offer the number two spot to Barack. He’ll think we’ve dug up some dirt on him that no one else knows. Either he takes the job as veep or we go public. Either way, what do we have to lose?”

There’s no doubt. Bill’s lost it. He’s fresh out of ideas. We thought about it for a few minutes. No one said a thing. Terry turned to me and said, “What the hell. Why not?” I turned to Mark and said, “Make the call.“

Someone gave me a copy of a memo called, ‘The Path to the Presidency.’ I don’t know who wrote it. Nobody on the staff will say. It’s not Maggie Williams because she won’t put anything down on paper. Maybe it was Mark Penn but the memo doesn’t have any spelling errors.

I figure it was Terry McAuliffe, but he’s denying it was his work.

So, I dig though this little document to see exactly how I’m supposed to defeat Barack Obama’s lead in delegates and win the White House. Well, it turns out that the memo doesn’t really say ‘how.’

It offers some arguments about why I’m qualified, why I should be the one to run against John McCain, and so on, but certainly no ‘how to‘ anywhere. From what I can tell, it’s a waste of good paper, but we leaked it to the press anyway. They’ll print anything if they think it’s been leaked.

One thing is clear about whoever wrote this piece, they’re an insider. They know how I think. They know what I feel. They know  my campaign to smear Barack Obama is working. No, it won’t get me the delegates to be nominated outright. Obama has more delegates and that’s not likely to change.

The key is the SuperDelegates. They will decide the election. If I can get them to think Obama would lose in the general election against McCain, they’ll pick me instead. That’s what the memo should say. That’s the path to the Presidency.

You would think people would warm up to me after all I’ve been through. I have a great smile. My hair is perfect. I look good in pantsuits. I don’t stutter or drool.

Who is Samantha Power and why does she think I’m “a monster?” I’ve been parodied on Saturday Night Live. I’ve been on Saturday Night Live. People in Texas, California, New York, Ohio, Michigan, and Florida love me. I’m still here. But “a monster?”

Samantha who? She is one of Barack Obama’s most trusted and influential and articulate advisors, says so. She said, “She is a monster, too… she is stooping to anything… people just look at her and think ‘Ergh.‘” So much for being articulate.

The woman absolutely positively is a bitch.

Mark Penn cried Havoc! and unleashed the dogs of war and no less than a dozen of my underling lemmings chastised Barack Obama as being unqualified to be President because he can’t control his aides and advisors. If you can’t control the people close to you, then you won’t make a good President.

That’s what I always say.

Maggie called me early this morning with the news. We gained a dozen or so delegates by winning Texas, Ohio, and Rhode Island but spent $25-million to do it. She also said we lost about a dozen SuperDelegates who switched over to Barack Obama.

Only Mitt Romney spent more of his own money to buy delegates.

This whole primary campaign against Barack has turned out to be something of a pickle for the Democratic Party. It may very well be that both Barack and I head in to the convention this summer with about the same number of pledged delegates but not enough for either one of us to claim the nomination.

Some SuperDelegates have pledged for me, others for Barack, which leaves a few hundred more SuperDelegates that are unpledged, uncounted, and who won’t answer the phone. I know why.

Every day the ante goes up. They’ll want the sun and the moon and the stars for their votes. On a whole, delegates in the Democratic primary are cheap at about $35,000 each. Total campaign money spent divided by the total number of delegates.

The last 300 are likely to be much more expensive.

I can’t help myself. My victory speech would have been longer but I had the hiccups. I don’t hiccup when I talk but that only lasts about 10 minutes, then I can’t control it any longer.

This was a political victory for the ages.

Who cares that I blew a huge lead in two of the most important sates in the country. No, not Vermont. Not even Rhode Island. Who cares that Barack Obama came back from a 20-point deficit to almost win. He lost.

Who cares that we only gained a dozen or so delegates after throwing the whole damned kitchen sink at Texas and Ohio. I won.

I really, really don’t want to say, “I told you so…” but I have to. I’ve been telling everyone that the new Hillary is back. I am a change we can believe in.

This is it. Roast or toast. Invade or be conquered. Texas and Ohio. And a couple of other states someplace. Virginia and New Jersey, I think. No, no. It’s Vermont. And Rhode Island. Who goes to Vermont this time of year? And why is it called Rhode Island when there’s no island?

Anyway, D-Day is here and I am sweating like a whore in church. Ohio looks tight. Texas is tighter. My pantyhose is even tighter. Maggie hasn’t been able to step up to handle my shopping details like Patti could. She can’t get the color right. She can’t get the size right. I’m one shade too dark and two sizes too tight. Now my feet are numb.

I’m going to roast Mark Penn for that dumb-assed email he sent to the Los Angeles Times telling them he didn’t hold any responsibility if my campaign fails. He’s already laying out his parachute. I had Howard send them an email telling the paper that Mark was to blame for everything. He’s toast.

Ohio is not a pretty place this time of year. It’s almost spring and it still looks like winter here. Everything is gray and dreary and everyone is gray, dreary, and overweight. Hasn’t Ohio ever heard of Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig?

Today I was asked a question at a rally by one of my local campaign supporters. She told me her name is Virginia, a slightly overweight middle-aged woman with too much makeup and not enough sun, and she asked, “Mrs Clinton, if you lose Ohio and Texas, will you concede defeat to Senator Obama?”

Despite the years of being in the public limelight, people just don’t know the real Hillary Rodham Clinton. Quit? It’s not what we do. Bill never quits. I never quit.

So, yes Virginia, there is life after Tuesday.

More than just pressing on, there’s not only life, but hope. Even if Senator Obama gets a slim victory in each state, he won’t get all the delegates. If we split the states, we split the delegates. I will press on. I have to. Otherwise they might ask me back to host Saturday Night Live.