MEDIA MATTERS

Hurricane Irma Exposes Cable News Networks

CNN and other cable news networks found that the worst Hurricane Irma devastation was not in Florida but in a worse place: their credibility.  After convincing the nation that Irma would devour the entire state of Florida, the hurricane fizzled in the Caribbean and left the hysterical media red-faced.  [More] 

IN THE TOILET

Houston Mayor Orders Residents to Flush More

In an executive order that conflicts with conventional wisdom and modern environmental ethics, Houston Mayor orders residents to flush their toilets more to help clear out floodwaters.  [More]

 

RIDE SHARING

The Top Ten Complaints About Uber and Lyft

With more and more people relying on so-called ride sharing provided by powerhouses Uber and Lyft, not all is perfect in the world.  The LBT's resident curmudgeon Charles C. Schultz sounds off on his top ten complaints.  [More]

RIGHTIST TRUMP

The Expert: Rumored Autistic Barron Trump Shakes D.C. To Its Core

Barron Trump, the 11-year-old son of the president, arrived in D.C. wearing a now famous T-shirt bearing the message “The Expert.”  D.C. watchers claim that this message was not a mere accident.  Barron may be bringing a powerful, far-right influence into the West Wing.  [More]

 

Exclusive Hillary Clinton What Happened Book Excerpt: Romance in the Heat of the 2016 Presidential Campaign

In a Steamy Book Excerpt Released Exclusively to The LBT, Clinton Writes about the Unlikely Intersection Between Two Worlds that Occured Outside the Glaring Eye of the Media and in a Place Where Love Seemed Impossible

Published September 12, 2017

 

The first moment I saw Tricia, I could tell she was no normal intern.  Everything about her was different.  First, she didn’t come from one of those fancy East Coast universities like all the other interns in the campaign.  No, she was from a small, private women’s college in Montana where the girls learned how to rope a steer in the morning and then sauntered inside in the afternoon for their women’s studies classes.  She had a swagger about her that touched me in some way.  Maybe it was her hard-edged exterior mixed with a tenderness you could see in her wild green eyes.  And the way her rough textured denim skirt hugged her shapely silhouette.  Her breasts were full and buoyant in a way that seemed to stop time itself.  On that first meeting, she stood in the doorway to the VIP lounge with her hip jutted out as if to say, “Nobody messes with this chick.”

Our eyes met, and after she held her gaze I could feel the warmth flowing to the area between my legs – a feeling so seldom now.  - What Happened, by Hillary Clinton

Tricia was just the sort of energy the campaign needed, and our encounters became more frequent in those cold weeks of October.  We had a few “accidental” bumps in our tight quarters.  One time I playfully patted her on her firm, bulbous, heart-shaped backside after she did a fine job filling up some helium balloons.  She giggled, which made me happy and aroused at the same time.

One day at headquarters about a month after she arrived she was leaning over a carton of campaign buttons that just came in the mail.  She sensed my approaching and leaned a bit further, begging me to covet her beneath her Western embroidered shirt.  Her pale bosom hung like succulent fruit and her long and well-muscled legs visible under the table made her look like she could have ridden a wild steer all the way to Washington.

Our eyes met, and when she held her gaze I could feel the warmth flowing to the area between my legs – a feeling so seldom now.  Tricia was wakening a side of me I had forgotten.  It needed to come out.

My smell began to fill the room like the hot rubber of a discarded tire in the Death Valley sun.” - What Happened, by Hillary Clinton

Suddenly, we were alone.  Tricia approached closer, as if to ask if I needed something.  She was, after all, only an intern even if her sexual energy burned brighter than a million glossy mailers.  Tricia fixed her intense green eyes at me as she slowly lifted my shirt from my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor beside the paper shredder.  She gasped for breath after taking in the many folds and crevices of my body.  She ran her hands down the length of my arms, her fingers entwining with mine.  I wondered if I had used my loofah on my arms where the dead skin shows, but nothing mattered now.  There was only this moment.

Then she crossed our hands behind me as she kissed me long and deep, pressed so tightly against me, I almost couldn’t breathe.  In a really good way.  My smell began to fill the room like the hot rubber of a discarded tire in the Death Valley sun.

As soon as she released my hands, they found their way to their new home, tangled in her hair. She feathered kisses down my neck to my collarbone, and my breath caught in my throat.  Tricia smiled against my skin, knowing this was my sweet spot.  I felt her hands as they unclasped my bra, adding it to the pile at my feet.  My breasts poured out like soup from a ladle and rested on my soft belly.  My scent of my bra wafted up like the odor of food left in the kitchen sink garbage disposal during a long vacation.

She noticed me staring and she grinned. “What are you staring at?”

“You. You’re beautiful.”  I ran my fingertips lightly across her chest and could feel her nipples harden beneath her wind worn shirt that looked like it had braved 1,000 rodeos.