I think I must address this above YouTube video, which was brought to me on a silver platter by my Guatemalan maid, Pepita. Now, before I go any further, I need you to know that Pepita has been gainfully employed by the Clintons for twenty years, and we acquired her quite legally. Well, at the time it was legal. I think. I don't remember. It was a long time ago. And anyway, a baby left crying in front of a fruit stand at an open air market in Guatemala contributes more to society by bringing me things than it does by crying. Don't worry. Pepita is none the wiser, and she's always been very happy here. There was the Great Escape Attempt of 1999, but we cleared that up. Just a misunderstanding.
My honorable competitor, Mr. Obama, will contend that this video proves that I've lived a bourgeoisie lifestyle and am unable to relate to the lower or middle classes. But let's face it, there's almost no middle class in this country anymore, and we can thank President Bush for that. (I will wait while you cheer, clap, and wave your CLINTON '08 banners.)
My fellow Americans, you should know that I always serve myself coffee. Here is how the process works. Three days before I require coffee, Pepita roasts the beans and immediately freezes them to capture the essence and robust flavor. Three days later she removes the beans from the freezer, grinds them, and brews a pot with triple-reverse-osmosis-purified water. She then pours the piping hot beverage into a Versace china cup (isn't it darling?!), brings it into the room on a platinum serving tray, and offers it to me while prostrating at my feet.
But I raise the glass to my lips. And I force the caffeinated goodness down my gullet. Pepita just watches and occasionally offers to wipe my mouth with an embroidered silk napkin.
See, I live my life just like you. You are America. I am America. We are America.
The coffee machine at the gas station was state-of-the-art and that's why I was unable to use it. It made coffee with lasers and microchips or something like that and only trained professionals are supposed to operate it. The
Brett is my favorite Secret Service Agent. He is a very intimidating guy. This is my favorite picture of him because he looks like he wants to eat the guy holding the camera.
When Brett makes that face at people at my rallies, it makes me laugh.
Wow. I really digressed there. Normal people digress, don't they? I mean you, fellow American, probably take detours when you write or talk, telling inter-related stories concurrently, right? Do you see? This is further proof that I'm not some rich, privileged, ego-tripping white lady who cattily attacks her opponent for having no "experience", even though he appears far more human and is able to relate to the working classes. Oops! I digressed again. See? I'm just like you!
God bless you!
Hill
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