Yup!!!! Here's several:
Posted on 09/05/2007 2:04:45 PM PDT by PilloryHillary
Yup!!!! Here's several:
She's Very Lucky....the Little Rock Mafia, has made "Arkansas Dirtnap", into an art form.
If I remember correctly she announced back in 2004 or 2005 that she was writing the book. Now all of a sudden it turns up missing? Maybe she was going to blow a deadline?
You could be right...the thought crossed my mind when he skipped his court date today. I think Hsu has more on Hillary than Kathleen Willey...but who knows.
Sounds like it was typed on a typewriter...not a word processor. How foolish. How convenient.
Okay.
Who uses a typewriter? LOL!
No, What's on second base.......Hsu's on third
Oops, sorry! Hsu's on first, What's on second and I Don't Know's on third........
Someone who would worry about a missing manuscript.
If a computer was used then there has to be at least one digital copy...and common sense says at least two.
Otherwise Ms. Willey is indeed a fool.
The article doesn’t really say there were no other copies. However, if I had info on the Clintons, I would cease to sleep with my windows open. I would have a panic room!
She can always rewrite her book. The memories of Bubba have never left her.
By the way, Hello.
If I had info on the Clintons, I would not be talking about it! This woman has a death wish.
Hello to you too, by the way!
I think this theory is much more likely. Make her look like a kook, and no one will listen to her.
I would volunteer to be by her side 24X7, even while she sleeps....assuming she has not remarried or has a boyfriend bigger than me.
Probably in Ft. Marcy Park.
Probably in Ft. Marcy Park.
It was hot in the Oval. Summertime DC. You know, like when
the crawdads clumb onto the mangrove roots just to keep from
being gumboed alive.
Or was that mandrake? No, that was Lasater’s deal.
I was thinking about Gore and wishing he would give me a key
to the thermostat covers when she walked in.
“Mr. President, do you remember me? Mrs. Edward Willey?”
Remember her? Legs going up like a Roman candle; a rack to
shame the 24-pointer I wasted at Camp David, even
if the SS had to tether it first. Yeah, I remembered the dame,
like Bennett remembers San Francisco, Sacco remembers Vanzetti,
like Hillary remembers...every gall-danged thing.
Like how nervous Vince wa...
“Mr. President?”
“Huh? Yes. Yes, Mrs.Willey. Sit down. Sit down.”
Her dress was sultry and clingy, like a hot intern. Her knees
stayed tight until she was seated. Then she crossed her legs in one
practiced motion, her hose making a slithery sound.
Out of all the broke down, multi-colored rug, sweaty hot Oval
Offices in the world, she had to pick mine.
I thumbed the intercom and told Betty to hold all calls.
Then I asked Willey why she came.
“My husband has embezzled a lot of money that we have to pay back,
Mr. President. And I need something more than the volunteer job I
have. I mean, Easter Egg rolls....”
I wanted to feel her pain, but she was across the desk. How
could I get into her...pantry. That was it. The pantry.
“Mrs. Willey, would you like a cup of coffee?”
She couldn’t turn it down. I stood and gestured toward the
galley just off the Oval and motioned for her to go in ahead
of me. It was like little animals when she walked.
I asked her how many lumps she wanted, but I was thinking about
how many lumps I was getting...one in the throat and one down at
the Y.
As much as I hate carpet burns, I suggested that we
adjourn into the study. Groans I make in the galley ricochet like
singing in the shower, and I felt an aria coming on.
The difference between the flourescent lights in
the galley and the warm tungsten lamps n the study was startling.
Her hair went from copper to a warm auburn and I went for
a hug. As I held her tense frame up close, her warmth began to
spread to me, rapidly getting hotter and wetter. I backed up
and took her squashed coffee cup from between us and sat it
on the end table.
“Mr. President, aren’t you afraid someone will walk in here?”
“No, no,” I told her how sorry I was for her troubles and pulled her
against me again, my lips finding hers before she turned her head
sharply, leaving my tongue to dart into her earring.
That was when I realized I was being set up. Women could
not resist me. Brother Graham told me so himself.I slid a finger
into her breast pocket looking for an West Wing pass in case
Hillary had sent her. There was none. I would have to threaten
her to buy her silence. I took her hand and made sure she felt the
hard barrel of my thigh-holstered snub nose. It’s a repeater.
“It’s not that I’m glad to see you. It’s just something I’ve
wanted to do for a long time,” I hissed.
That did it. She paled and backed away, “I have to be going. It
would kill my husbandif I did this.”
More than you ever knew, Sister. More
than you ever knew.
OMG!! That was incredibly funny! Did you write it? My buddies and I decided to always refer to her as The Goddess Kathleen. One of my dim buddies actually switched to Repub in total disgust over what Bubba tried to do to her.
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