Never in the history of American oratory has such soaring rhetoric been deployed so majestically in the service of campaign damage control.
That’s why Chris Matthews’ Leg felt “it” again today. That electric surge of hope-change-love-peace running from his toes up his sciatic nerve. “I am healed,” The Leg declared serenely.
The Leg couldn’t help but admire the brilliant timing of Obama’s decision to bravely lead the nation in a frank discussion about race—choosing the very moment in which he is forced to talk about race to get his backside out of a sling.
Only a statesman of Obama’s skill and stature could successfully excuse himself for sitting under the teaching of a racist conspiracy nut for two decades simply by equating him with the little white grandmother who raised him and who apparently used a few racial terms considered politically incorrect now 40 years later.
“I totally buy it,” The Leg exclaimed before joining Andrew Sullivan in a group swoon. “End of story. Issue settled. Yep. Nothing else to see here. We’re good. Let’s move on.”
“I thought all the flags were a nice touch, too. A little one would make a nice lapel pin. I’ll have to suggest that next time I see the Senator.”
Chris Matthew's Leg 