Do you hear that sonance, that swishing sound of Hillary Clinton sinking? No, not in the polls (okay, perhaps there too), but in the open wound that is my heart. I recently opined about how my dear Hillary plagiarized my words to express her affections, and today I was given more proof. Take a look at this lovely illustration of the glorious Lady Hillary unleashing arrow after arrow in search of love. Now look at the artist's name. Yes, it is indeed a gentleman named Mr. Darcy (in this case Jeff...mine is the much more regal Fitzwilliam). She simply sought the wrong one. In light of these new developments, I may just overcome my fears and extend my shaking hand. As many of you are painfully aware, marriage proposals have not been my forte (though I still claim to be more adept at it than Mr. Collins). Please tell me readers; will my efforts be in vain? Will she accept my lessened fortune and twentieth century inexperience? My goodness, I sound like Mr. Obama! How unworthy I am! I am almost certain to be rejected, and yet I still cling to the tiniest shred of hope from those potioned arrows so beautifully depicted in that drawing. She must take pity on my pour soul. If Hillary is to decline my heartfelt affections, then lay me down in front of those Bosnian snipers. If she accepts me, well then, I will be the happiest of men.