Be Sheehan Ya

HillaryI am not generally given to prognostication on this blog–except perhaps in the broad strokes which experience with human nature and things of the spirit allow one to anticipate. But this one seems a slam dunk, a prediction no savvie bookie would take odds on. You are about to witness an alien abduction: Cindy Sheehan is about to disappear from the face of the earth.

Not literally, of course: you will still find her name and face on sites such as, the Art Bell bellweather of the moonbat Left. But Saint Cindy of Crawford–the darling of every media maven and the idol of digital photojournalists everywhere–who have lusted for each provocative shot of candles and crosses, tears and tirades–will meet her demise, forgotten and homeless, in the litter-strewn gutters of American politics.

In her day she was a great heroine–a bereaved mother, cloaked in absolute moral authority, taking on the most powerful man on earth. Encamped with her army of Righteous Ones, she spoke Truth to Power, sacrificing sorrowful reclusion and reflective privacy for the withering heat of photofloods and the sweaty, funky olfaction of a Sharpton embrace. But emboldened by successes she had not created, our femme fatale, like Icarus, sought higher things. But she has met her Helios, and the wax is about to melt.

In Brooklyn last week, on her antiwar bus tour, Cindy Sheehan took on Hillary Clinton:

Cindy Sheehan, the mother of an American soldier killed in Iraq, last night brought her campaign to end the war to New York, where she accused Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton of not doing enough to challenge the Bush administration’s Iraq policies.

Speaking in front of more than 500 supporters in Fort Greene, Brooklyn, Ms. Sheehan, speaking of Senator Clinton, said, “She knows that the war is a lie but she is waiting for the right time to say it.”

Then, as the crowd cheered, she issued a challenge to Senator Clinton, saying, “You say it or you are losing your job.”

Cindy, Cindy, Cindy! You are a white dove flown into the strike zone of Randy Johnson heat. You are no longer taunting the President–whose handling of political enemies borders on the effeminate. This is Hillary: you have poked the bear with a stick, and there’ll be Hell to pay. For Bush, politics is a vehicle for principles; for the Clintons, politics is principle.

You were useful in your day–eroding the popularity of an embattled President and his compatriots in crime. But Hillary is on the move, craftfully tacking to the center, supporting the war while criticizing it, moderating her stance on abortion, seeking the support of those elusive values voters so critical to her 2008 presidential bid. Hers is a treacherous tightrope: snarling denizens of the Moore, teeth bared, panting for blood while shovelling dollars into the raging furnaces of the Left; on the Right, wary independents and ex-Democrats fed up with Bush–but still mindful of the tainted regency she ruled with an iron fist, concupiscent husband close in tow.

And you are shaking that tightrope, Cindy … “I find your lack of faith… disturbing.”

Have you forgotten James Carville, Paul Begala, Sid “Vicious” Blumenthal–the political hammers employed by the Clintons, whose coarsely-crafted assaults left many a bruise? Have you forgotten Kathleen Willey’s missing cats and slashed tires, the mysteriously-paid legal bills of bouncer Craig Livingstone’s FBI file fishing expedition defense? The IRS audits of organizations critical of the Clintons? Terry Lenzner, Jack Palladino, and Anthony Pellicano–the P.I.’s hired to dig dirt on Ken Starr’s boys and various bimbo erupti? Remember “If you drag a hundred dollar bill through a trailer park, you never know what you’ll find”? This isn’t T-ball, Cindy–you’re in The Show now, and the pitcher’s throwin’ real heat.

Of course, Hillary is the consummate politician, so don’t expect anything crude or overt. And she doesn’t have to lift a finger: she has friends in all the right places. Look for stories on the heroism of Casey Sheehan to start showing up in the media. Look for reports of her mental instability, expose’s of past embarrassing events in her life. Look for the dwindling of funding for the Cindy Sheehan Rolling Review, the absence of celebrities and Democratic bigwigs at her ever-shrinking rallies. Watch the Lexus-Nexus hit rate for stories about her drop like dew on a fall morning.

In a short while, Cindy Sheehan will fade to black–a fading memory never again mentioned by pols or pundits.

Just my guess, of course–time will tell. Where’s my bookie’s number?

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