Obama's Diary

It can’t be much longer before Hillary Clinton drops over dead. That’s probably a good thing because then I would not be under any obligation to tap her as my vice president.

A lot of bad things happen when a candidate running for political office starts spending their own money. Ask Mitt Romney. Not only is Hillary not getting any campaign contributions, we have it on good authority that some of her former contributors are asking for their money back. They’re saying things like, ‘Why can’t you close the deal?’

Our latest intelligence suggests that Hillary has donated up to $10-million of her own money, and her campaign is about $20-million in debt.

It’s time for me to announce The Hillary Deathwatch. I’ll ask the remaining uncommitted SuperDelegates if they want a candidate who can’t pay bills, can’t collect money to run a simple campaign for President. How will that kind of candidate fare against John McCain in the general election?

SuperDelegates are not stupid people. In my Hillary Deathwatch scenario they’ll watch the clock. And it’s ticking.

It’s not over until the fat lady whimpers.

As Bill Clinton used to say whenever a new, but not quite pretty enough, intern would show up at the White House, “Close, but no cigar!”

I almost won Indiana and that would have been the knock out punch to finally take down Hildebeast.

What Hillary doesn’t know is that my campaign seeded a few million one page flyers to every household in Indiana two weeks before the election. We made sure every voter got one, and signed a non-disclosure agreement so they wouldn’t tell the press what was on the flyer.

All the flyer did was explain that Hillary’s so-called Gas Tax Holiday was really just a gimmick to get them to vote for her. It explained the math, and was truthful, telling Indiana voters that they would save money but only about $25 all summer.

I also promised to give everyone who voted for me $25 to cover their extra fuel costs this summer, but only if I won the primary election in Indiana. It was close. Had I won Indiana it would have cost me about $25-million dollars.

Instead, I almost won Indiana, it didn’t cost me anything, and the close election almost punched Hillary out of the race.

It’s never to late to begin thinking about who to appoint to my Cabinet once I’m elected President. In a shocker to my aids and advisors, I’m seriously considering Hillary Clinton as Secretary of Defense.

The woman is tough as nails, doesn’t quit like that patsy Donald Rumsfeld, and isn’t afraid to say in public that she would obliterate Iran if they attacked Israel. It took guts to say that. Those pantsuits of hers are hiding a lot of intestinal fortitude.

The problem is that the Clintons like to play a tag team. Getting just one Clinton on my team will be the challenge. Bill keeps hinting to me that regardless of Hillary’s intentions, he’d like to be Secretary of State, even if for just one term.

I don’t know. I really don’t know. Bill managed to piss of a lot of black folks during the primary elections. I don’t know if he can mend that fence. He would make a very good roaming ambassador of good will, sort of a caped crusader of truth, justice, and the American Way, but without the cape.

I would rather have Hillary as Secretary of Defense. There’s something about a fierce woman wearing pants that will really get the Arabs in a lather.

If Bill Clinton can call himself the first black President, despite being whiter than white, then it’s only fair to consider me the first black Kennedy. I prefer a comparison to Jack. There’s something of a ladies man in all of us.

A comparison to Bobby will do, but not Ted. Please, no comparisons of me to Ted Kennedy. The man is a womanizing, lecherous, lush. Nice hair, though.

I’ve ordered some signs for the Democratic Convention in Denver. Once I receive the nomination campaign supporters will pass out signs that say, “Obama– The Black JFK.”

The Black JFK. It just works.

The more I think about it, the more that slogan has a great ring to it. It brings back exciting times of dreams lost in tragedy.

It’s a whole lot better than the one Michelle thought of. 

The “Democratic Reagan?” What was she thinking?

I don’t hate Pastor Wright for what he said, how he said it, or what he’s doing to screw up my campaign for President. Now I know how O. J. Simpson felt. His wife fooled around on him, took his money, laughed at him. I’m not saying O. J. should have done it, but I understand.

I didn’t feel that way last week, but I feel that way now.

Pastor Wright is nuts. Worse than nuts. Evil nuts. Either that, or he’s off his medication again, which I suspect is closer to the truth. I tried to cut the man some slack. I gave a memorable speech about blacks and race and hate in America. I distanced myself from him slowly and gracefully.

What does he do? He’s back in it again, on national television, like a politician released from prison. Wright has Marion Barry syndrome. He loves the camera and the spotlight. It is important that Americans understand Wright from wrong.

Pastor Wright’s emotions and feelings are right, but how he expressed them is wrong.

It’s nothing personal. It’s just politics and a lesson I learned from watching Will Smith portray Muhammad Ali in the movie The Greatest.

Rope-a-dope.

Muhammad Ali coined the term for his fight against George Foreman, the so-called Rumble in the Jungle. Knowing he couldn’t beat Foreman head to head, blow for flow, Ali used the technique to win. He stayed on the ropes of the boxing ring, using them as a cushion while Foreman exhausted himself pounding on Ali round after round.

Ali hardly broke a sweat, but when the time was right, he came off the ropes and clobbered Foreman for the win. Ali did it against Smokin’ Joe Frazier and beat him.

That’s what I’m doing to Hillary. The past couple of weeks I’ve been in rope-a-dope mode, letting Hillary pound away at me. It’s math. She can’t win the nomination. But she thinks she can, so she’s spending money like a drunken sailor. By North Carolina, when I come out swinging to nail her make-up covered hide to the floor, the race will be over.

Rope-a-dope. What a great concept for politicians.

This is how I know that Pastor Wright is really the Devil personified. He can’t be killed, no matter how hard I try. He’s all over the news these days spewing venomous hatred of whites and America and calling me a politician. 

That’s an insult. I’m really an agent for change. 

What I’ve come up with to help counter the Wright offensive offensive is an offense of my own. This is what we’re leaking to the press:

The whole Pastor Wright issue is manufactured by the media to destroy the black church and my campaign.

It was Michelle’s idea. I told her it wouldn’t do much good because Pastor Wright is the Devil and you can’t kill the Devil.

Michelle said she’d be happy to set up a meeting with Pastor Wright to test my theory.

I’m thinking it over.