Elliot, Michelle, And Me

The world was shocked today to learn of Elliot Spitzer's escapades with a "petite brunette prostitute" at the Mayflower hotel in Washington DC on the eve of Valentine's day. Without making any comment on the unfairness of this to his wife (boy does THAT hit home with me!), I do point out that Elliot Spitzer is an F'n idiot. He spoke on the phone directly to the prostitute?! He sent text messages!? Oh my God. What an idiot. If you're going to commit the crime, at least demonstrate some prudence. He was an F'n prosecutor for crying out loud!! Elliot could have learned many lessons from Bill and me if he had only asked. I am (somewhat) proud to say that we are experts in this area.

Easy, Hillary. Deep breath. So here we are at the no B.S. zone at blogspot.thefakehillary.com. So unfortunately, I feel compelled to expand on this breaking story. There is even more here than meets the eye. I am sad to say that Democrats will mourn this day for decades.

First, this humiliating news paints Elliot (and really all democrats everywhere) as a hypocritical twit. Might as well paint a target on all of our backs. F'n reckless bastard.

But it's so much worse. Elliot's imprudent behavior is really just the first domino. On the heels of Governor Elliot Spitzer's now famous confession, I have no choice but to tell the rest of the story. You heard the description of the prostitute, right? Well, I am both delighted and horrified to share with you that the pro was none other than Michelle Obama, herself. I mean where do you think they have been getting all of that damn money?! The Internet?! I think not. Michelle has been busier than a one armed paper hanger trying to keep the ridiculous fairy tale alive!

And lastly .... and boy, this is tough .... I have to admit my own personal involvement in this terrible tale. Not only is Elliot's wife a victim here. I have been personally victimized as well. You see, Elliot and I have been having an affair for years. He prefers a little extra junk in the trunk as they say. And his lovely wife has always been just a bit too skinny for him. I make no apologies for my own behavior (do you blame me?), but I do feel pretty lousy. Elliot told me he would be my Vice President. Maybe I'll cry tomorrow morning in a Mississippi coffee shop tomorrow. Maybe it will help. No telling what will happen if the super-delegates start to feel sorry for me.

TFH