I'm disgusted. Hilary Clinton is so bad at saying she's sorry, she just wants to go back in time and REVERSE the Senate vote authorizing funding for the war! I'm so disgusted I'm Basil Fawlty telling his handsome, gleaming young guest that he really should have visited a chemist's shop earlier in the day. Hilary Clinton is a large-faced baby.
An easier way for Hilary to accomplish her shifty, calculating goal? She could build a time machine! That would work! I was talking my dear old friend James last night, and I learned a lot. (He still lives in New Jersey, so I don't get to benefit from his tutelage as much as I should). I learned that May '77 was a crazy good month for the Grateful Dead--some of the hottest Scarlet Fire jams--and also that it wasn't overambitious of us to plan to see their shows. See, I learned that James has been reading some stuff on the Internet about the government's research into time travel.
Call me a physics nerd (you'd be an idiot to call me a physics nerd), but I exclaimed "James, you'd burn up! You can't go faster than the speed of light!" He said, no, no, Emma, maybe they were looking into doing the traveling a different way. There was a facility in Montauk, he told me, where all the experiments had happened. They razed it recently (apparently the tests weren't panning out) and found, like, body parts from the future stuck in the walls.
Quarks. Effing quarks. Who knew?
Luckily for the state of my cell phone minutes account, James and I both agreed that actually traveling into the past could have frightening repercussions.
But I don't think Hilary Clinton would think that far. She'd probably still want everyone to think she'd never been wrong about anything. Another person who wants to use that Montauk time machine? Robert Byrd, Clinton's co-sponsor on the measure, who got all sorts of college students to swoon for him during the Iraq debates and all sorts of black college students to (presumably) loathe him during the 1940s when he was a registered KKK member and accomplished organizer.
This Is Not My Beautiful House. I Am Not Your Beautiful Wife.
- Emma
- Brooklyn, NY, United States
- When asked about the Red Admirable, Vladimir Nabokov said this: Its coloring is quite splendid and I liked it very much in my youth. Great numbers of them migrated from Africa to Northern Russia, where it was called “The Butterfly of Doom” because it was especially abundant in 1881, the year Tsar Alexander II was assassinated, and the markings on the underside of its two hind wings seem to read “1881.” The Red Admirable’s ability to travel so far is matched by many other migratory butterflies (Strong Opinions 169-70).
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