1. Joking about Chelsea is like standing in a cathedral and questioning that long-past-ascended Mary dame's purity and suggesting she may well have been just a brilliantly media-savvy unwed mom way ahead of her time. (Note: I have made such jokes to real, as in they wear the collar and drink too much, Roman Catholic priests and received nothing more punishing in return than a smile and a request for a refill. Obviously, these men were not Democrats and the JFK photos on the walls of their offices were just RC ruses.)
2. Although Chelsea is, and I must add, THANKFULLY (all in caps, natch), alive and well and living in her 10-million-dollar apartment in Manhattan, she is not to be touched, even verbally. Chelsea is, it would seem, nothing less than beatified. She may well soon be a Most-Blessed-Daughter-of-God icon for Leftists. There has never been one before, but whatever. (Andrei Rublev, eat your heart out.)
3. Chelsea is the much-taller and completely non-stooped version of Mother Theresa.
4. Clinton supporters, Democrats and/or Leftists ("and/or"? I confess this is a lame attempt at objectivity on my part) seem to think that despite her fame and wealth, despite being 34, despite having security people around her 24/7 that can kill, you know, me and you and anyone approaching her for an autograph or a handout, Chelsea is, like, forever a prepubescent 10-year old. And if you even joke about her in any way you are: SO. TOTALLY. RUDE!!!! (Feeling this way about the mature Ms Clinton is considered a compliment. You go GIRRRL!)
5. The only "Litmus" test for anyone running for any public office, including Dog Catcher, should be "Is it okay to make jokes about Chelsea?" No one, and I mean no one, should vote for anyone who says, "No". If these folks are so frigging sensitive about Chelsea, they have ABSOLUTELY NO BUSINESS dealing with Iran! (And I included Dog Catcher because those public servants don't just go after dogs. I happen to adore Persian Cats, Sunni, Shia, whatever, and I don't want some idiot Progressive sending my pet back to Tehran to be thrown off a 10-story building because she is not submissive enough. And don't give me that BS about my pussy landing on her feet. I know that sounds dirty, but it's all in your mind.)
6. Chelsea has a Ph.D from like Oxford! Too MF amazing! Jesus H Christ, why was I not informed? And to think, Jacqueline Kennedy spoke four languages, yet has no icon floating round the Internet with her name on it. The last Tsar, no winner as a leader, or anything grand, actually hung out at Oxford as well (tea-time while visiting Grand-mother-in-law, Victoria?) spoke five languages, yet no 'Oh he was so smart' stuff about him. James Gandolfini spoke two languages and looked better fat than any of the Clintons ever will, but no 'Oh he is so smart' stuff for him either. Tchaikovsky, three languages were no problem for him, plus he was gay ( progressivites where are you?) could play the friggin piano AND write all sorts of ballets with celestial tunes - even one where a prince loves a swan - but no 'Oh Peter!'s' for him. I will spare you my admiration for...let me think, okay, just off the top of my head, those slouches: Michelangelo, Joe DiMaggio, Mark Twain, Capote, Nureyev, Elvis, Abraham F-ing Lincoln, Sandy Koufax, and that Tolstoy fellow. But, sob, I am sure none of them could touch Chelsea. However, I refuse to omit my all-time fav, Sinatra: good English, competent Italian, was known to be able to sing in both languages, plus he could arrange to have you killed. (This, of course, is a skill that should guarantee a doctorate in itself - and I hope in New Jersey soon will.) All of this is a long way to go to say, 'Chelsea? Ph.D? Oxford? So?'
7. Chelsea is, despite no demonstrated ability to sing, act, or tap, today's Shirley Temple . Forever young, smiling, plump-cheeked and innocent, dancing along life's happy highway. I am ashamed to say that I have no words. (Shirley, forgive them, they know not what they do.)
8. Our Chelsea, has at OS, and among Progressives of various stripes who, despite their name, yearn for the past, a ready-made PAC and is a shoo-in as "President-Proclaimed" - forget a stupid election - come 2024.
9. After writing my blogette, I was informed that I was "mean-spirited". Ach, auch, the bitter tears I shed.
10. I was compared to Ann Coulter. Not to use rude language, but this did totally piss me off. (I felt like Chelsea dealing with the slings and arrows of outrageous and fortunate nasty people!) You animals! I would kill for Coulter's hair! I would, quite possibly, do the same for her Manhattan apartment. I would love to have her Gold-Medal-Olympian skills at Anorexia-chic. You really know how to hurt a girl, don't you, you OS folkers?
But, not to worry. Happily, I live in Russia where reeducation and psychiatric treatment are nearly always conveniently provided in the same hospital. (So handy, and also one area in which the Americans could learn something. )
I look upon the next few months as a time of spiritual renewal ("What'd mean I'm not allowed candles?!"), political reawakening, and, I'm just being pragmatic here, a free Russian- language immersion course. Thank you OSers!!!
Gotta go, the doctor's here.
'Доброе утро доктор.'