DURST: Hillary Clinton
In this whole ugly DC Zippergate mess with leaks and accusations of leakers and massive leaking, the one dry rock, and I mean stone cold solid hunk of granite is the Hillmeister. Not too surprising I guess. She's in the White House for crum's sake. The White House! Ostensibly sleeping with the leader of the free world. Maybe not doing much in bed there, but power is a lot like real estate; it's all about location, location, location. Consider the alternatives available. As much as I admire her adaptability, it's hard to imagine her back in Arkansas cleaning the brood's clothing on a washboard out front lawn wise next to the stripped 47 Ford up on blocks. As a matter of fact I imagine she'd stand next to him no matter what, in order to stay in the old Maison Blanc. It wouldn't matter if she had to walk up to that podium pushing her way through flocks of sheep and packs of nude slippery interns, she'd still be there telling everybody that Bill was totally innocent and the victim of a phantom right wing conspiracy. Before giving up to the forces trying to hurt her mealticket Bill, she'd convince us with charts and graphs that Kenneth Starr was taken over by alien pod people. And some of us would buy it.
