Lou Reed once musically urged people to take a walk on the wild side. I have taken the portion of his advice about walking. On my walks to Barnes & Nobles I sporadically have what for me passes as profound thoughts. (For other people these thoughts would prove mundane at best.) Walking the three plus miles of Morganton Road provides the opportunity to ponder the mysteries of the universe — and the crushed Bud Light cans on the sidewalk.
    The light and airy months of spring have morphed into the raging beast that is Fayetteville’s annual summer festival of heat and humidity. I expect to have even more profound thoughts as solar energy intensifies. In Biblical times, prophets would go into the desert to dream dreams and see visions. Lacking a desert in Fayetteville, the Morganton Road sidewalk substitutes to trigger cosmic revelations.
    Personal Theory of Life #602 holds that life is a constant battle against gravity. Gravity struggles each day to pull you down. You struggle each day to stand up. Most days you will win and remain standing. Eventually, gravity will win. You will fall down and you will not be able to get up. Visit a hospice if you doubt this theory. In order to delay the day that gravity inevitably wins, it is important to exercise. The stronger your body is, the longer you can fend off Mr. Gravity. That’s why I walk, to delay gravity’s final victory. That’s the reason some people go to the gym, do yoga or run. Other people who do not subscribe to Theory of Life #602 supersize their french fries with extra cheese and bacon bits. Mr. Gravity usually wins against these people sooner than their more active brothers and sisters.
    Walking the same route repeatedly is not boring. Obsessive compulsive maybe, but not boring. As Casey Stengel would say, you can see a lot just by looking. There are a number of interesting sights on Morganton Road. Did you know that Fred the Dead Rabbit is lying in the road close to the Fayetteville Academy? Fred has been ripening in the sun for a few weeks. He is silent but wise. Dead rabbits are natural teachers. Fred has taught me how to hold my breath when I walk past him. Fred has reinforced my concept of the difference between upwind and downwind. There is also an odd picture of a woman’s face on a telephone pole sign that cautions about being buried. The Indy 500 nature of cars going 70 mph two feet away on Morganton Road generates copious adrenalin.
     walking next to Fred the Rabbit, I pondered what Hillary Clinton wants. Obama now has the delegates to be the Democratic nominee. Hillary refuses to concede defeat. She is the dinner guest who doesn’t know when it’s time to leave the party. The hosts are yawning and want to go to bed. Hillary refuses to leave. Apparently she’s willing to pick Obama to be president as long as she gets to be vice president. My guess is that Michelle Obama may not want Hillary as VEEP. As a wise man once said, “If Mamma ain’t happy, ain’t no one happy.” The White House would not be a happy place with a cranky Michelle coupled with Hillary and Bill trying to be president.
    A number of Hillary’s supporters are peeved at what they perceive as the unfair treatment of Hillary by the Democratic Party and Big Media. They are threatening to go vote for McCain who favors appointing more Supreme Court justices like Scalia and Thomas who will vote to abolish Roe v. Wade and do other colorful things to the Constitution that you might think Hillary voters would oppose. Heck hath no fury like a Hillary supporter scorned. Like the Shiites flagellating themselves, Hillaryites are willing to cut off their noses to spite Obama’s face.  
    What is Hillary to do? Simple, she calls up John McCain and chooses him as her presidential running mate. She’ll become McCain’s vice president. A McCain-Hillary ticket would get John, Hillary and Bill into the White House. Her voters could smite Obama and the Constitution by casting their ballot for McCain-Clinton-Clinton. It’s a political menage a trois made in heaven. It’s coming soon to a ballot box near you. Let the presidential rumpus begin!

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