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Hillary Sez Obama Will Be Gunned Down, McCain Craps Bigger Than Cancer

Here are two Friday Afternoon Specials for Memorial Day Weekend. First, Hillary Clinton has news for the naysayers who think she should drop out of the race. What if Barack Obama is assassinated, ever think of that? "Bobby Kennedy was assassinated in June in California," she reminded any members of the Sioux Falls Argus-Leader's editorial board who might have forgotten. (Video here.) Note the seamless blending of derangements: dynastic megalomania triggering fantasies about her opponent being snuffed.

Watch me free associate, Clinton-style: R.F.K. was slain by a militant Palestinian, which my esteemed rival for the nomination may or may not be, but Bill and I have friends in Boca who have questions that can only be answered by recognizing the Florida primary. Ready on day one. Ovaries of steel. Sis-boom-bah.

We'll be halfway through President Obama's goodwill hoops game with Ayatollah "No Mahdi, no foul" Khamenei before a glassy-eyed Hillary, her lipstick applied like Diane Ladd's in Wild at Heart, stands before her ten remaining supporters in a fortified compound in Michigan and simply mouthes the word, "nigger."

Second, John McCain's medical records were released today under a cloud of secrecy nearly thick enough to suggest there was something remotely eyebrow-raising about them. Mac is just fine, as it turns out. No signs of recurrence of his melanoma, and the worst of his problems are tantamount to yours and mine: "Mr. McCain, the presumptive Republican presidential nominee, has kidney stones and takes medication to reduce his cholesterol but otherwise has a strong heart and is good shape, the doctors said." Fit as a fiddle, able to leap tall expectations in a single bound, and hungry for love and it's feedin' time.

Better still — no, not really better still, but you know what I mean — is the photograph The Drudge Report has been hosting of McCain (see inset), which shows him to be the scrappin'est sparkplug of a septuagenarian, who drinks not coffee but espresso and is very much that twanging advertisement for Viagra Bob Dole so hoped to be.

Can we be left in any doubt whatsoever that we have here, ladies and gentlemen, a man who sprinkles iron filings on his Corn Flakes, who shoots a falcon dead square in the eye at a hundred miles through a series of smoke rings he's exhaled from pure and legal Dominican cigars, who would ask only for a can of spinach and your humble support to make the world safe for democracy? Just keep your daughters at a safe distance; women who unwittingly step in the path of that wink have wound up pregnant.

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