So Jimmy Carville asked me last night, "What would you do if Bill found out he had incurable cancer?" My answer: "Bill who?" Ha! Do you get it? No really, if Bill had incurable cancer I'm sure I wouldn't just go celebrate right away. First I'd pray that it was testicular cancer so we could have his balls cut off. Then I'd hold some kind of pious press conference where I'd make him come out and say how he wanted me to stay in the race and how he wasn't going to let his cancer get in the way of my pursuing my dreams. Then I'd make sure he started really looking like shit in public, wasting away, and I'd have lots of photo opps of me taking care of him at home -- no wait, not lots of photo opps, but one really good one, like we'd give an exclusive to Vanity Fair or something and have it done really classy by Annie Liebovitz in black-and-white with me as Florence Nightingale and Bill as the dying Jesus. Yeah. I'd fucking milk it for all it was worth. Well done, Miss Edwards. First smart thing you've done on this campaign. You little bitch.