Bag Lady.

Whatever respect I may have had for Hillary Clinton's candidacy is gone. 

And I've never respected her prick of a bagman, Terry McAuliffe. He is--and was--an apple-shiner in a rotten orchard.  

From the Washington Post:

Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton's campaign accused Sen. Barack Obama's campaign of fanning a controversy over her describing the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy late in the 1968 Democratic primary as one reason she is continuing to run for the presidency.

"The Obama campaign ... tried to take these words out of context," Clinton campaign chairman Terence R. McAuliffe said on "Fox News Sunday." "She was making a point merely about the time line."

"Time line"? 

I'll give you a "time line", asshole. I remember my brother charging into the house that night, a night when he was home from college, and out on the town. I was nine years old when Bobby Kennedy was killed, and I'll never forget it. 

I remember going into school the next day, and my third-grade teacher Mrs. Boas rolling out a TV so we could watch the news reports. I saw pictures of a bloody, dying Bobby Kennedy from the wire services, too, and years later, I found those pictures in old newspapers in our attic and I just stared at their finality.

A couple of months earlier, when Martin Luther King, Jr., was killed, I was a scared kid in America; I just didn't know it yet.

I remember my mother in my bedroom later that night, surely because I was that scared kid in America.

Hillary Clinton is a desperate, tired politician, and her husband is now someone red-faced, angry, thirsting for missing power, and the worse for his wear. 

And, you, Terry McAuliffe? Terry McAuliffe? A hoarse-voiced, horse-faced hatchet man last seen groveling on "Fox News Sunday". 

You strike me as a miserable, rotten yes-man; your candidate, invoking the name of a U.S. senator who was running for president, and shot dead. Then twisting the same words we know you helped spin her way the first time.

Bill, Hillary, and you sing sad, sorry songs; alas, you are nothing but yesterday's ugly, soon-to-fade headlines. 

You are hardly worth consideration to collect our garbage. 

There's your timeline, brother. 

Do you know what time it is, Terry?

Time for you to leave.