The American Spectator

And everyone who acts today will have the chance to join me — along with a guest — for a dinner to talk about whatever you’d like.

I’d like to talk about how someone I trust — name rhymes with “Billary” — just made me feel like I’ve been tricked into attending an Amway meeting. br>

Let’s go to dinner! Contribute now, and you and I could be enjoying a summer dinner together soon!

Contribute? Could BE? Look, Hill, it’s not that I don’t trust you. Really. But I was just taught a very important lesson in not paying up front by the un-handyman I hired to put shelves in my closet this week. The moment I doled out the cash he forgot all his wonderful promises. Now my closet looks like an IKEA box had a miscarriage in it and my wife thinks I’m a gullible fool. No, I need something more definitive to close the deal.

Now, of course, I’d love to sit here and type, “Let’s just get everybody together. Let’s get unified. The sky will open. The lights will come down. Celestial choruses will be singing and everyone will know we should do the right thing and the world will be perfect.”

p>Maybe I’ve just lived a little too long, but I have no illusions about how hard it is going to be to get you to commit to dinner (under the stars) once I’ve sent you a contribution — cash that won’t even go to exposing Obama for the sleep-through-the-3 a.m.-phone-calls-lightweight he is, I might add. br> /p>

Thank you so much for all your wonderful support.

Please, Hill, at least tell me a few sweet little lies to make the charade pass less painfully. Tell me we’ll dine the night after next under a paradisiacal canopy of sniper fire as we sort out this crazy world together until the dawn arrives. Can you do that for me, Hillary?