In which Matthew fantasizes about a chick fight

There's an empty glass podium with a tasteful reading light and coral drapes in the background. There's the click of sensible heels approaching. And Hillary Clinton steps up to the plate. And she looks fabulous, and surprisingly relaxed. The cameras roll.

"My fellow Americans, and dear supporters: I fought my way into a near win in the Democratic primary despite my gender -- I dealt with double standards in the party, the opposition, the press, and certainly the voting public. And in the end I bowed out gracefully. Relatively gracefully.

"Senator McCain has chosen Governor Palin, meanwhile, because of her sex, and only because of it. That is not progressive. That is sexist, and insulting. McCain has turned his vice presidential nomination into a vain publicity stunt, timed perfectly to eclipse press attention on Barack's big second-act opener. And he did steal the headlines briefly, until God (obviously a Democrat) staged a bigger stunt in response, stealing the RNC's thunder and dropping it just outside New Orleans. Not enough to do too much damage, but enough to remind us and the press of Katrina, and of who the GOP really is and has been. I can't shake the mental image of Governor Palin, face frozen in a smile, doing a stilted beauty queen wave on a parade float that is actually floating up Bourbon Street thanks to a party who is constantly on vacation, who refuses to even take the vice presidency seriously, openly referring to it as 'a job that involves attending funerals and checking on the health of the president.'

"How the irony stings, when Sarah Palin has the gall to try and take up my mantle, to break a glass ceiling which I've only cracked -- by positioning herself to take away my right to choose.

"I've already gone on record and said 'No way, no how, no McCain.' I don't know how I could make it clearer to my former supporters, especially the women, that a write-in vote for me, in this close election, could send our rights back into decades that predate women's liberation entirely. Here's one last try: if you are a former supporter of my campaign, and you withhold your vote from the Democrats, or vote Republican, out of spite or a vendetta or bitterness over my unfortunate but fair loss of the primary, you are a fucking retard. I will personally come to your pathetic lonely home, backhand you across the face, kill your cats, and tear down with nails of rage any posters or buttons or shrines which bear my name. You have no right to them.

"As for my supposed successor, who was busy popping out baby after baby after baby after baby after baby at home in North Bumblefuck while I fought for women's health and rights across the globe, but now has pretensions to even make reference to my campaign as she builds her own: I know you'll soon be trounced by Joe Biden and everything. He'll come out looking like a mean old man and it'll probably win you votes.

"But a week before the vice-presidential debates, let's do one of our own. For the ladies. You and me. Lincoln-Douglas style. Next Wednesday, here in New York State, at the motherfucking Susan B. Anthony House in Rochester, bitch. I will show you, and my daughter, what a real feminist, and a real woman, can do. And you are of course welcome to invite Track, Trig, Pippi, Wippi, Trip, Tralala, and however many other kids you'll have popped out by that point. Bring it the fuck on. Thank you."