Wednesday, August 27, 2008


Overlooking a sea of supporters, chanting for her, and waving signs with her name, Clinton is overwhelmed with a sense of pride for the United State of Hillary.

Seriously, an orange pantsuit? That’s almost as offensive as her race-baiting attempts to steal the nomination. Maybe she didn’t have any other options.


“No— way worse in person. Waaaaay worse. She smells like sulfur and dead babies. And her eyes are so cold it’s like she’s raping your soul with a giant, icy strap-on.”

“I support Balack Obama.”

“Did she just?!…

“He’s the best candidate from that race.”

“Now, more than ever, this is a time for us to unite behind an unqualified candidate who might be a terrorist, and look towards the future for my run in 2012.”

“Nailed it!”

I’ll stab the bitch.”

“Ha! Awesome!”

“We’re gonna stab the bitch! My idea.”

“Cut her fucking throat, sweetheart.”

It looks like she got coached in feminine gestures by Barker’s Beauties.

I’d love to see the hours of tape of her practicing these moves with a choreographer.

I’ve seen crippled seals clap more naturally.

The ol’ two finger point never works—never. That being said, it usually doesn’t go this poorly.

“Holy shit! Is she pointing at me? Shit, shit, shit! She knows I’m high! Why the fuck did I wear this and get stoned?! I should have tried to blend. Fuck!”

Looks like we finally found the precise portion of the light spectrum that botox does not reflect. 

“I support Hillary cause she’s a good patriot and cause black people don’t tip. Top you off there, honey?”

“Yay Hillary! Boo my ex-husbands!”

Watching Hillary concede is like hearing her drunk husband mock her online antique cookie store idea all over again.

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