PostHeaderIcon Cheating While Lying

Or, was it lying while cheating? It seems that the NYPD caught her wearing what they think is a stealth miniature communication device, during the so-called CinC debate last night.


Of course, it might have just been another undisclosed medical infirmity, which requires her to wear a hearing aid. Granny is obviously rapidly decomposing before our eyes.

Best comment of the day:

Choose anybody but Hillary… Bill does! 😆

Good advice. 😉 â—„Daveâ–º

7 Responses to “Cheating While Lying”

  • Chris says:

    Which is the ONLY reason I may be compelled to vote for Trump. A piss poor reason but it’s all I got.

    • That is about all most of us ever get, Chris. When was the last time you voted for a POTUS candidate in a General election, instead of against the worst one? Reagan was the last one I ever voted enthusiastically for… 🙁 â—„Daveâ–º

  • Bill Clinton ushered in BOLD FACE LIE TO THE PUBLIC and that was allowed to slide.

    Now Hillary Clinton is trying to up the ante and slide past us BOLD FACE LIE, CHEAT AND STEAL … let’s see if the American voter is stupid enough to let that slide.

    It boils down to CHARACTER … who has it and who does not.

    I am not talking about CHARACTER of the candidates I am talking about character of the American voter who clearly is about to get exactly what they deserve.
    I LOVE IT! 😉

  • I’ve been looking into this to see how legit it is. It could be damaging in the extreme, since it undermines her on all fronts, from ethics to qualification.

    I notice Snopes just put up a post declaring it false, but supports the claim with absolutely nothing. They must be getting flooded with questions and taking a gamble that they can prove it later. That’s a big gamble when your existence is supported by nothing but your credibility.

    • I stopped trusting Snopes demonstrably biased political opinions several years ago, Steel. I posted this last night; but the story about it on the Drudge Report today has other pictures than this one, and some example photos of qualifying stealth communication devices. Then there was the Huma e-mail asking if she had her “earpiece.” I think we can be confident that there was something in her ear last night. At best, it was only a hearing aid. As you suggest, any other hypothesis could be devastating. â—„Daveâ–º

  • Chris says:

    Maybe it’s just so Billy can whisper sweet nothings into her ear to sooth her. Maybe a bit of Keats to set the mood for later.

    Ode to Psyche
    O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
    By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear,
    And pardon that thy secrets should be sung
    Even into thine own soft-conchèd ear:
    Surely I dream’d to-day, or did I see
    The wingèd Psyche with awaken’d eyes?
    I wander’d in a forest thoughtlessly,
    And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise,
    Saw two fair creatures, couchèd side by side
    In deepest grass, beneath the whisp’ring roof
    Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran
    A brooklet, scarce espied:
    ‘Mid hush’d, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed,
    Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian
    They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass;
    Their arms embracèd, and their pinions too;
    Their lips touch’d not, but had not bade adieu,
    As if disjoinèd by soft-handed slumber,
    And ready still past kisses to outnumber
    At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love:
    The wingèd boy I knew;
    But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?
    His Psyche true!

    O latest-born and loveliest vision far
    Of all Olympus’ faded hierarchy!
    Fairer than Phoebe’s sapphire-region’d star,
    Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;
    Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,
    Nor altar heap’d with flowers;
    Nor Virgin-choir to make delicious moan
    Upon the midnight hours;
    No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet
    From chain-swung censer teeming;
    No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat
    Of pale-mouth’d prophet dreaming.

    O brightest! though too late for antique vows,
    Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
    When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
    Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
    Yet even in these days so far retired
    From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
    Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
    I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspired.
    So let me be thy choir, and make a moan
    Upon the midnight hours;
    Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet
    From swingèd censer teeming:
    Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat
    Of pale-mouth’d prophet dreaming.

    Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane
    In some untrodden region of my mind,
    Where branchèd thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
    Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind:
    Far, far around shall those dark-cluster’d trees
    Fledge the wild-ridgèd mountains steep by steep;
    And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,
    The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull’d to sleep;
    And in the midst of this wide quietness
    A rosy sanctuary will I dress
    With the wreath’d trellis of a working brain,
    With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
    With all the gardener Fancy e’er could feign,
    Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same;
    And there shall be for thee all soft delight
    That shadowy thought can win,
    A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
    To let the warm Love in!

    LOL now let me know if you can sleep at night.

  • If her body wasn’t rejecting that throat implant, they’d be just able to just speak for her directly and avoid this mess.

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