You knew she could only hide out in that GOP bunker only so long.

You thought Charlie Gibson could keep her down.

Then you pinned your hopes on Katie Couric.

You bet the farm on Ifill and now it's landfill. 

In desperation, you turned away from amateur cheerleaders and sought out a true paritsan. 

You hoped Joe Biden, a veteran mudslinger from the swamps of Scranton, could meet her in a dark St. Louis alley and finish her off.

But you were wrong.

So very wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

Now she is energized.

She has taken your best—your cheapest—innuendo-laden shots and thrown them back in your face. 

She laughs the laugh of one laughing last.

One who has sneered in the face of Chuck Norris and sent him cowering.

You strengthened her with your shots of cultural Kryptonite.

Your feeble doses of verbal arsenic have only strengthened her resolve.

And now she has turned her focus and energies.

Now she has her prey in the the metaphorical crosshairs, packing her metaphorical Bowie knife.

Is she coming after Senator Biden?

No. She already ate his lunch yesterday and pocketed the milk money.

Is she coming after Community Organizer  State Senator  United States Senator  World Savior & Beneficent Messiah  Barack Obama?

Soon. Very soon.

But first, business needs attending.

You've known it for a time.

Stored in the recesses of your soul.

You didn't want to believe she was capable of such mayhem.

Denial was so comforting. 

But you were wrong.