STUMPING WITH THE STARS
by Maggie Van Ostrand
The former Heather McCartney isn't the only woman on the stump these days. We've got Oprah Winfrey running for President of the United States under the pseudonym Barack Obama. Then we've got Hillary Clinton, whose qualifications include having lived in the White House while her randy husband sought refuge under his mahogany desk and Janet Reno bombed Waco Texas.
It seems that Oprah has more clout in her role as Barack Obama than Barbra Streisand, who wanted to come out for Hillary Clinton, and not in a gay way. It may be that Streisand is trying to pay Hillary back for not evicting her from the Lincoln bedroom. I don't know what all the fuss was about since Lincoln was not actually in his bed at the time.
It's difficult to know whom to vote for, since they're all promising pretty much the same thing -- whatever the polls tell them the people want. This has nothing whatever to do with what seems to be their actual goal -- personal power.
It would be both unique and gratifying to have statesmen running against one another instead of politicians spewing forth enough gas to float the Hindenburg. It's even harder on a public which has to listen to the reedy rattle and sandy cackle of Hillary Clinton. We can only pray she doesn't try to sing "People…"
You may by now be thinking I don't like women. Not true. I'm one myself and so was Mom. I just miss the men. I miss men delivering the news and weather and babies. I could understand having one anchorman and one anchorwoman on the various network newscasts what with equality being such a big deal and all. But now there are frequently two -- count 'em -- two women delivering what passes for the news, and no men. To this I do object.
Everything went downhill the minute women began to greedily grasp for everything that wasn't in motion. Remember the weatherman? He was sometimes right, even if looking outside your own house indicated he must be delivering the weather report from the bowels of a windowless skyscraper. But we learned that "A 30 per cent chance of precipitation" could easily mean that outside, it was actually raining cats and dogs. Now it's just raining cats.
When weathermen were replaced by a genderless title of "meteorologist," we were stuck with two blondes vying for which of them can top the other. "You say rain, I say snow. You say snow, I say blizzard, You say blizzard, I say cyclonic forces. Back to you Debbie."
It's time to look out of our windows again and see for ourselves.
And if you've seen Katie Couric and her daytime doilies disguised as nighttime news, you're probably ready to give Dan Rather a second chance. I'll give you five Courics if you'll raise me a Cronkite.
It's also getting more difficult to find a male doctor, or even a male veterinarian. Where are all these women with stethoscopes coming from anyway? Don't any of them want to be a nurse?
It's not that I want women back in the home because, if they want to, they can often perform as well in board rooms they do in bedrooms. But when it comes to a president, I don't want the Oval Office referred to as the Ovary Office.
And most important of all, the United States is a capitalist country and I hear Hillary dresses to the left.
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