|To be as fair as possible, it would be weird NOT to want to get an eyeful of that...|
Jenny McCarthy, easily the finest female specimen ever to appear on estrogen-addled daytime-TV squawkfest The View, recently upset the eternally offended Gay Lobby by insinuating what most of the Western world has insinuated for decades—that Hillary Clinton has a taste for female flesh.
Even though being gay is supposed to be cool, Clinton supporters balked and blanched and belched at the allegation not because being a Daughter of Sappho is a matter of shame, but because Clinton is on record denying it, which would make her a liar in the grand tradition of her husband. [Didact: And her husband is a far better and more accomplished liar, to boot.]
Assuming that Clinton does not die from herpes nor succumb to a fatal blood clot between now and 2016 when it is presumed she would be a shoo-in for the Democratic nomination for president, would it really matter if she were, to put it in the vulgar argot of sailors and longshoremen, a clam-licker?
I would go much farther than this and argue that if you're going to vote for the Lizard Queen in the next election, you're clinically insane.Not as much as one might think. [...]I’m going to go way out on a limb and assume that “p***y” does not mean “putty” or “poopy.” And I’ll lowball this and assume that, say, Bill Clinton never ate a pussy in his life. [Didact: If I recall correctly, he got the nickname "Slick Willy" for more than just his effortless charm...] According to Flowers, that would mean that Hillary Clinton has eaten at least one pussy, which would qualify her as at least bisexual if not a full-blown, fire-breathing, scorpion-tailed, claw-wielding lesbian.But again—does it matter?It should if you’re a male. By definition, lesbians dislike men. They take your everyday, run-of-the-mill, been-there-done-that misandry that forms the bedrock of all latter-day feminism a step further by rejecting not only the idea of maleness, but the very male body itself. The idea of a man-hating, pants-suit-wearing, oyster-gobbling woman sitting in the Ovary Office should make any right-thinking American male’s testicles retreat slightly up into his body.