Beastie: Hillary's back on the radar
The headlines were awash in apocalypse:
• Widespread power outages in South Florida,
• Norway Formally Opens Arctic Doomsday Seed Vault,
• Scientists Predict When World Will End,
• Starbucks to close all U.S. stores for three hours.
Politics continued to boil. Not yet recovered from the McCain thing, the public was treated to press scrutiny of a questionable land deal by Barack Obama, and a campaign donation from a British-Iraqi billionaire.
Reports from the world of science were even more disturbing. Arrogant, secular humanist technicians actually filmed an electron circling an atom! (These presumptuous "men of science" are no better than nano-scale paparazzi in my book. Curiosity killed Schrödinger's cat, guys--remember?)
I'm sure it's taking every bit of restraint God can muster not to vaporize us with a large lightning bolt, and I feel his pain.
Indeed, as I stared down into the swirling red depths of my half-consumed bottle of fizzy IZZE pomegranate juice--my only vice and itself a sign of my own increasing self-indulgence-- it seemed the world was teetering on the very cusp of oblivion.
I had been hesitating for months to employ the Weekly Beastie machine on political suspects. My previous investigation of John McCain and Barack Obama had left a bad taste in my mouth and a thin film of crud on Beastie that came off only with tincture of tea tree oil and elbow grease.
Still, the urgency of the times and the lateness of the hour were driving me to feed Hillary Clinton's name through a similar "trial-by-Beastie."
Luckily, the Beastie Machine was cleaned, serviced, tanned and rested. I could not, however, completely remove the irritating anti-creationist fish-with-legs bumper sticker somebody stuck on its rear end during our New Year's Eve party. I hate that kind of sophomoric humor.
Anyway, with trepidation and great reticence I typed in the simple words, "Hillary Clinton" and spun the start-up crank. A shudder, a chug and then nothing. I tried it several more times, but Beastie was choking on Hillary Clinton.
Going in a completely different mental direction, I typed in "I am woman hear me roar." This time I got a response, but the number was ridiculously high-- 791, nowhere near 666, the legendary number of The Beast from the Book of Revelation.
"Bilhillary Clinton" was closer at 576. Entering her real given middle name, "Hillary Diane Clinton," inched the number somewhat higher, to 598.
On a wild guess I typed in "Wellesley H. D. Clinton." The machine let loose a series of mysterious sounds not unlike the notes signaling the extraterrestrials in Close Encounters of the Third Kind and then spat out the number: 664.
This is usually close enough to call immediately, but the seriousness of the endeavor-- we were, after all, challenging the forces of wickedness and hideous perversity-- led me to try one more test.
Remembering a derogatory slang term from a Rush Limbaugh program I heard one time, I tapped in the phrase "Alpha Female Hilldebeastie." The machine whistled as the numbers appeared: 665.
After factoring in for stagflation and the percentage drop in the stock market ticker that day, the message was unmistakable. A hair's breadth away from 666 is close enough for theological work.
Hillary was back on my radar.
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