SubscribeHillary Insists She Can Control Her Husband
From ABC News:
Clinton Says She Can Control Her Husband
January 30, 2008
ABC News’ Eloise Harper Reports: Senator Hillary Clinton, in an interview with ABC News’ Cynthia McFadden for ABC News’ Nightline, was asked about President Clinton’s controversial comments about race and Senator Obama in the past weeks. Clinton apologized for her husband.
“I think whatever he said which was certainly never intended to cause any kind of offense to anyone,” Clinton said, “if it did give offenses then I take responsibility and I’m sorry about that.”
“Can you control him?” asked McFadden.
“Oh of course,” Clinton replied.
Of course she can.
She always has before, hasn’t she?
(Warning: the YouTube is of the whole endless fawning segment.)
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8 Responses to “Hillary Insists She Can Control Her Husband”
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January 31st, 2008 at 11:20 am
You mean she can control him like this.
Bill: “We Just Have to Slow Down Our Economy” to Fight Global Warming
January 31, 2008 9:26 AM
http://blogs.abcnews.com/polit.....st-ha.html
January 31st, 2008 at 12:18 pm
Why in the he** would anyone ever believe that crock of garbage - she did nothing to reign in his serial sex offendering ever. . .
And he is doing nothing beyond making one gauche remark after another. So much for controlling him, I guess that operative question must now be - WHEN?
January 31st, 2008 at 12:41 pm
“Can you control him?” asked McFadden.
“Oh of course,” Clinton replied.
Bwahahahahaha!!!!
Oh, dear. Simply the funniest thing I’ve heard today.
January 31st, 2008 at 2:10 pm
At the very least, If Mrs. Clinton is going to control her husband, she needs to know if he’s coming or going. I rest my case. She can’t, never has never will - no matter how many table lamps she throws at him.
January 31st, 2008 at 3:27 pm
I just don’t understand what person thinks it’s acceptable to “control” any other human being (other than one’s children). I can only imagine how emasculated my husband would feel if I could publicly claim to “control” him. This speaks volumes about how much respect she has for him.
January 31st, 2008 at 3:46 pm
Musette, I don’t believe one needs to “control” another human either. But in terms of respect, Bill’s done nothing to earn it, maritally speaking. Or any other way, for that matter.
January 31st, 2008 at 3:52 pm
Hahahahaha! SG, you’ve got to quit letting Artboy write these articles! LOL
But, seriously………..hahaha! I’m sorry, there is no way to take this seriously!
February 1st, 2008 at 5:55 am
AMERICAN PERFECTIONN, the Hillary Clinton Story, goes beddy-bye (or ‘beddy-bi’, since its Hillary) with “I Have a Dream”!
Huma the Campaign Aide snored softly, a thin trickle of drool puddling on the pillow, but by her side Hillary tossed and turned, her mind filled with uneasy dreams.
Images; lurid, violent and brief, swarmed through her somnolent cortex.
Obama screaming as he was torn apart by wild dogs.
Bill thrashing in the murky Amazon waters, devoured alive by ravenous piranhas.
Bill again, screaming in agony as the little candiru, hungry for blood, burrowed deep into what he still called his “doodle” and Hillary watched, snickering, from the shoreline.
Her father, Hugh Rodham – “The Firm Hand” – locking her outside in the snow on Christmas Eve because she wanted to leave milk and cookies out for Santa. “We’re not running a charity, Billy” he’d snarled as the door closed in her face. “You can come back in tomorrow, when you’ve learned your lesson”.
Those professors at Wellesley who wrote “ot-nay oo-tay artsmay” on her scholarship application – as if she could be expected to understand French!
The sorority girls - giggling behind their hands at her “funny” clothes and her “weird” figure. Their taunting little rhymes:
Hillary, Hillary
Nose full of snot
We like boys
But she does not
It wasn’t true – she did like boys! So much so that she wanted to be one herself.
Back and forth, her head thrashed on the sweat-soaked pillow, her talons clenching and unclenching, her chubby legs flailing. No, no, nooooo…the kaleidoscope of mental pain swirled once more and then stopped – an image shimmered into focus.
A sun-blasted desert landscape.
Bill, splayed out shirtless across an anthill, feebly protesting as Joe Friday and Martin Bormann lashed his wrist and ankles to the stout pegs.
Bill’s mouth was open but no sound came out; he tried to speak, tried to scream but no sound came to Hillary’s ears. There was only silence.
After thirty years, I’ve finally shut you up, she grinned. I’m in control now – me. How you like them apples, bitch? she snarled, grinding her heel into his eye. Bill screamed silently.
Shut up or I’ll really give you something to cry about, she commanded, remembering her father’s favourite admonition. Look at you, Bill. You look terrible. I bet you’re thirsty, huh? I bet you’re hungry, too – you always had a big appetite. You want something to eat, Billy boy? Huh? Do you?
She snapped her fingers and Bormann bustled over with the big glass jar full of amber fluid. She glanced at the label – “Grandma Hunneyford’s Finest Old-Fashioned Bee Nectar”.
Want some honey, honey? sneered Hillary as she began to drip the sweet, sweet gunk into Bill’s eyes…his nose…his ears. Oops – missed a spot. There you go…
She dropped the empty jar and waited, her hide tingling with anticipation, as the fire ants poured from their burrow and swarmed over the writhing figure of Bill; relentless, avid, hungry…the tormented ex-President shrieked in silent agony, again and again.
What’s that, Bill? Didn’t quite catch that. Sorry – can’t hear you. Too bad.
Hillary sat up bed, jerked awake by the vividness of the dream, so real, so wonderful…
“You okay, Senator? murmured Huma sleepily.
“Mmmmm…I just had a beautiful dream, Hummer”.
“Do you want a glass of water? Do you need another paddling?”
“Uh huh; yes and… yes”.