Attending a Hillary Rally

Rallies were not a popular thing in my day, and if they were, certainly not among the gentry. Why exhaust yourself at a rally when you could grumble quietly to a servant (who had to pretend to listen despite having no interest whatsoever)? We complained about such life-altering travesties as the mutton being too chilly or the weather being too tropical. Life could seem barely tolerable at times, and yet few got emotional about it. Everything was subdued.

After attending my first political rally tonight (incidentally for Hillary Clinton...who would have guessed it?), let me assure you that times have changed. Not only do women find it in themselves to talk the forbidden subjects (politics, religion, anything related to having something beyond a bird's brain), but they speak with an insatiable fire. They may as well have played Berlioz's March to the Scaffold (an excellent composition from my neighbors to the south), with Sir Barack Obama's head on the pike, then burnt it to the stake a la Joan of Arc and quartered it to the four corners a la William Wallace (a wonderful film, that Braveheart). These women were out for blood, all while they served carrot cake.

And the Obama rallies are supposed to be even wilder. What could possibly go on there? Do they take Hillary Clinton voodoo dolls and poke out her eyes with Monica Lewinsky's cigar?

It seems that if I ever want for the old life, McCain's pub is the place to be; no rabid liberals, and no conservatives from what I hear either. I'll "hang" with Hillary's crew any day of the week.