For a few hours you had that whole self-righteous Cindy thing right in your hands. First, a triumphant tour of the lefty media: Democracy Now! NPR! ABCNNBCBS! Chrissie! Geraldo! Shep! Piece of cake. Smear the conservatives, bravely recount your ordeal, answer a few puffball questions.
Then, paid-for appearances speaking at all the stinky radical rallies, firing up the Obamabots by shouting incoherent slogans into an echoing microphone while wearing your tattered Navy fatigues with the Special Forces patches. After the shows, plenty of chances to fall off the wagon and consort with the occasional near-sighted groupie. Maybe even a minor-league book deal as part of the payoff. It was all... right there.
And then, in one ill-advised burst of moonbat candor, you let it slip away....
OK. It’s all OK now. Move along...nothing to see here.
Indeed. I would pay big money to see this guy's list of incoming calls from the hive mind of the media before and after his Saturday night "accident".