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Clichés by the Bushel (AKA Unoriginalism in the Original Washington Speak)

The Huffington Post The Huffington Post 22/02/2016 Craig Shirley
WASHINGTON © Jon Hicks via Getty Images WASHINGTON

In the political-speak of Washington, the narrative had become unoriginal but they had skin in the game so it was a step in the right direction. Some thought their argument was a running joke, though, and it would have to be deep 6'ed after 86ing it. Else it was a dead letter. As Hillary might say, it was a dog bark dog world. Bill was no help though because of his distinguishing characteristic and that ship had sailed, that train had left the station.
The talking heads and wonks of Washington had kicked the can down the road long enough and now was the time to toss caution to the wind and throw the whole thing under the bus. They'd drank the Kool Aid many times, looking for a game change. The canary in the coal mine was deader that Kelsey's nuts because this was where the rubber met the road. You could read their lips or watch the paint dry. That or be a bed wetter else they get their underwear in a bundle. They were going to turn conventions upside down because it was a defining moment. It was a strategery moment. They just might get a chance to take that victory lap even as Mitt was still counting on 47 percent support.
The candidate had been poll tested til the cows came home. In the final analysis, the campaign storyline was clear as Kristol and they were going to stick to the issues. They were ready to put boots on the ground and march to victory by nailing it down. But they'd have to focus group it first before green lighting it. After all, Barack Obama was a red diaper baby and he'd have to shit or go blind.
Everything but the kitchen sink would be thrown into the fight. The nomination was within their grasp, even if their candidate was dumb as a doornail and didn't have a leg to stand on. They had plenty of the ink stained wretches at the Washington Post and CNN cleavage cable commentators at the ready to trill and tweet and twaddle and text. Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
There was blood on the floor even as everybody wanted to come to the deal with clean hands but the ad homonym attacks were ad nauseum. But it was a step in the right direction even if they were on steroids. They needed to have an adult conversation without the existential threat on a level playing field and a serious conversation with themselves on Main Street and Wall Street.
They had to knock it out of the park. They'd have to go on Press the Meat and Weak This or Sit on the Face of the Nation to make their case to keep the genie in the bottle. They'd have to place their bets after hitching their wagons if they didn't get their feet wet so long as they didn't stick a toe in the water. It was not in their wheelhouse.
The Post was coming up with some original language to describe how poor and minorities would be hardest hit if it was good for the Middle Class, even if they couldn't stand the heat in the kitchen and the rich weren't soaked enough to pay their fair share. Meanwhile the book reviewers at the Post and the Weekly Standard couldn't write their way out of a paperbag, but that didn't stop them from taking one for the team as they were playing a weak hand.
Their clown car was through the looking glass.
In the end, Washington was broken and all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't find their brains with a flashlight.
All the bets were off because the candidate tipped his hand. Because the American people deserved better even if Washingtonians didn't know their ass from their elbow. They would have to play the hand they were dealt. A great weight was lifted from their shoulders, even if their head was in the clouds.
In the jargon of Washington's consultants, it all made perfect sense. It all came out in the end, at the end of the day. It was all over but the shouting.
Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Politicos? You bet.

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