Bill Clinton came the the Triangle to stump for his wife.

He went to Cary.

Now I’m not a placist myself, but to many of my friends, choosing Cary over Durham is the moral equivalent of parking your Hummer with the “I (heart) Republicans” bumper sticker in front of your McMansion that has five bathrooms with high-flow toilets. That you flush all at once. Several times a day. And laugh maniacally.

Maybe Clinton can redeem himself by volunteering to be a judge at the Beaver Queen Pageant.