Listen kids: we need to talk about Hillary Clinton. Actually, we need to talk to the Democrat Party about Hillary, but they’ve fallen into such a tragically co-dependent spiral with the old girl that whenever she throws a shoe, they all pull up lame. So it falls to us. If we don’t do something now, they’re going to run her to death. It’s time for an intervention.
Look, I have enjoyed Hillary’s 2016 freakshow as much as the next guy. Hell, I’ve made money off getting other people to point and laugh. But it stopped being funny sometime between her collapse from “heat exhaustion” and her diagnosis of what appears to be the world’s very first strain of retroactive pneumonia.
I thought she was the evil puppet master; cruelly yanking on — and occasionally cutting — the strings of the left’s political marionettes. I may have overestimated her faculties.
Her career track of enabling a serial sexual deviant in order to ride his hormonal coattails to the top of the electoral heap suggests a real sociopath. There was the shady graft of her pre-Washington days; the mentorship at the feet of KKK icon Robert Byrd; the vicious attacks on her husband’s victims; the pimping of the State Department to foreign — and occasionally hostile — governments in order to line the coffers of her family’s “foundation;” the cold abandonment of the victims in Benghazi; the amateurish email fiasco; the casual dismissal of over half the country as either deplorable, racist or plain old “enemies;” the hate-filled invective for anyone — conservative or Democrat — whom she views as a threat (see also: the original “birther”); and the lying. Man oh man, the lying.
If Bill Clinton was the Da Vinci of dishonesty, then Hillary was the Edvard Munch of mendacity. The lying was just as impressive; but distorted and creepy, tainted by the tortured soul of the artist. A large part of the reason she hasn’t managed to put Donald Trump in the electoral mirror is a direct result of Hillary and her minions’ reflexive tendency to lie, even when the truth would be simpler, and far less costly at the polls.
But I’m no longer convinced Nana is the mastermind behind the Democrats’ looming demise. If Hillary was still the real hand on the rudder, then quite a few people would have joined the ranks of the late and lamented. When she was operating at 100 percent, many of those who displeased her didn’t exactly resign in the traditional sense; unless you consider “visiting Fort Marcy Park” to be traditional. This can’t be the fruition of five decades’ worth of disgrace and humiliation. I can’t believe that a woman who spent 50 years building a ladder to the Oval Office would flounder so helplessly as the bodies began floating to the surface any more than I can believe she could go from losing consciousness in the morning to “running around at her daughter’s apartment chasing her grand kids around” in the afternoon while simultaneously fighting off pneumonia, heat exhaustion, the flu, dehydration and “allergies.”
Besides, I’ve seen the videos; and I’m not talking about the YouTube videos on which Hillary blamed Benghazi. I’m talking about the tubercular coughing fits; the apparent seizures; the post-concussion Fresnel glasses; the stumbling; the collapsing; and, if her spokesholes — including her husband — are to be believed, a medical journal full of maladies and an inability to tolerate temperatures above 77 degrees. Hillary isn’t unhealthy; she’s on her bloody deathbed.
At some point, the human thing to do would be to stand up to the Democrats and demand they let the poor old woman go home. As her predecessor and occasional scapegoat Colin Powell pointed out in a recently leaked email “Everything HRC touches she kind of screws up with hubris.”
Hillary is consumed with ambition. She’s practically defined by it. She’s endangering her life, not to mention the lives of aides, media and her own grandchildren, whose immune systems are unlikely to be able to withstand exposure to the petri dish that is Nana. And by feeding her addiction to power for power’s sake, her supporters are like an aging prizefighter’s posse, telling the champ to take one more fight after his best punches are behind him. They live blissful lives of undeserved privilege, while their meal ticket staggers toward doom.
Expecting her supporters to let Hillary enjoy her dotage in peace is like expecting the ticks to jump off the dog. They won’t do the right thing; so we must. Tell the left: let Hillary go home.
— Ben Crystal