The children always squeal with delight at the part where Dorothy drops a house on Hillary Clinton. At the White House, rather than the scent of frankincense and myrrh, the aroma of hypocrisy hangs in the air with the acridity of camphor balls. In the Clinton household, in deference to the holiday season, sanctimony and shallow display get ratcheted up a notch. They courted and won unstinting love among men who would be women, women who would be men, and minorities who only feel comfortable proclaiming themselves a rejected society whose angst can only be alleviated by joining the Clintons for a roll in the mud. Because of the servile devotion of such supporters, Clinton is never obliged to hide his intent.
Iraqi mothers say otherwise.
Clinton wants to kill everyone in Iraq except Saddam Hussein, the guy causing the problem. The attacks he ordered as eleventh hour diversions reveal this president is about as balanced as a two-legged stool. Bill Clinton has created sympathy for Saddam Hussein when no one thought it was possible. At the most charitable estimate, Bill will be remembered as The Come Stain Kid, Hillary as The High Priestess of Cellulite. In Hillary Clinton's heart it is a perpetual season of nuclear winter.