BILL: Ya gotta move now, darlin.’ We can’t count on a brokered convention anymore. Biden’s toast, Bernie’s ticker is tuckered, and the rest are midgets. Warren’s unstoppable--unless you act.
HILLARY: I don’t…cough-cough-cough-cough-wheeze-cough-cough-cough- cough cough . . . .
PAUL BEGALA: He’s right, my queen. Declare your candidacy tomorrow. I’ll instruct our media familiars to gush in approbation as they cover it live, with a five-minute tape delay to edit out stumbles, falls, respiratory episodes, brain freezes, and bathroom emergencies.
BILL: Good thinkin.’ Let’s put her whole campaign on a five-minute delay.
HILLARY: Shuddup, Bill. Damn! I’d hoped to avoid retail politics in Podunk coffee shops. Maybe Lizzie will bow out once I throw my pantsuit in the ring, and I can skate to the nomination.
What, Serpenthead?
JAMES CARVILLE: That dog won’t hunt, Missus. She ain’t stayin’ on the leash. She got the scent and she’ll run it down and get her teeth into the mudbugs in the gumbo pot before the moon rises over the bayou.
HILLARY: So, how do I supplant the Wicked Witch of the East and become inevitable within days after I announce my candidacy?
BEGALA: First thing, Sensei, make a short, powerful statement that you’re running for reelection against the usurper, Trump, and everything you do as president will be For … the …Children. We can flesh it out in the fall, or not.
BILL. To lock you in, Honeybun, we saturate the airwaves and social media with the ad you wouldn’t let us use in 2016 against Trump. Remember? Your takeoff of Peggy Lee’s “I’m a Woman.” *
HILLARY: Only did it because Streisand persuaded me. I thought it made me look tawdry, and why risk it because I was supposed to win big anyway.
DAVID BROCK: Different times, Excellency. It shows a side of you nobody ever sees, including us.
BILL: I just previewed the spot, Sugarlips . It’s perfect! Blows away your robotic persona by taking a page from Trump’s book. The rubes will see an in-your-face Hillary who’s PC-free, bold, brassy--and even a little sexy. And we did finally get a take without a coughing jag.
HILLARY: All right. Show me. Better be the one I appear mostly from the waist up.
BILL: Run it, Paul.
I'm a Clinton
[On the monitor Hillary stands next to a piano chatting with John Legend at the keyboard. She is rouged, red-lipped, and wearing a white pantsuit ensemble with three inch black pumps. She turns and puts her hands on her hips. When the intro begins, she smiles suggestively and starts tapping her foot. The camera zooms in.]
I can BleachBit my e mails and laptops then flip a bird at the FBI
I can rake in cash as I please through my Foundation until the day I die
I can order the nets to sow talkin’ points like seeds across the land
Take a month off the trail, schmooze the rich in the Hamptons, return when I’m flush to beat the band
‘Cause I’m a Clinton! C-L-I-N-T-O-N, I’ll say it again
I can spew out a dozen lies and make you think they’re all true
Cuss an agent, rank my staff, and beat on Bill so he’s black and blue
Party with Cher on Saturday night, head home and drink til 3:00 a. m., and then
Get up at 10:00, eat steak and grits, go to church and screech “Amen!”
‘Cause I’m a Clinton! C-L-I-N-T-O-N, hear me say it again
If you come to me beggin’ you know I’m gonna make you pay
If you come to me with bad news you know I’m gonna ruin your day
If it’s pity you’re wantin’, I’ll slap you and shame you, you snivelin’ twit
‘Cause I’m a Clinton! C-L-I-N-T-O-N, hear me say it again
I can break every rule in the book from now to End of Times!
I can laugh at Congress skirt the law commit a host of crimes
I got a history of payback that proves there’s nobody I can’t screw
I can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear but I can make dupes outta you
'Cause I'm a Clinton! C-L-I-N-T-O-N, hear me say it again
'Cause I'm a Clinton! C-L-I-N-T-O-N, and that says it all
HILLARY: I like it. Where’s Huma?
BILL: Off pouting somewhere. She wanted to include a verse extolling female genital mutilation and subjugation to Sharia, but we thought those issues could wait until after you’re elected.
BEGALA: Reverend Sharpton on line 1, your Eminence.
HILLARY: What’s up. Al? I don’t care what Jackson told you. You will be my Secretary of Reparations. Yes, a Cabinet position. Contingent, as we agreed, on your guarantee of 70% turnout and 95% support in designated black communities. Well, better get busy. [hangs up]
Ah, Huma. Where have you been?
HUMA ABEDIN: Arranging for Anthony to be kidnapped and taken to Saudi Arabia to be stoned to death for unspeakable acts, my Liege.
HILLARY: Probably best, my dear.
BROCK: The Post is reporting we have a good chance at picking up the Senate and keeping the House, your Grace.
HILLARY: From your lips to g-d’s ears, if he exists. Absent congressional obstructionism, I can do a better job of chipping away at the Bill of Rights.
BILL: Sweetheart, we’re seeing some softening in a vital demographic: one-issue abortion righters.
HILLARY: Troubling. I’ll issue a statement next week supporting abortion up to six months after birth if the woman complains of sleep deprivation.
BROCK: We’ll have expired Democrats voting in sufficient numbers to put you over the top in Pennsylvania and Ohio, your Worthiness. By a simple stretch of the imagination, they’ll qualify as absentee voters.
HILLARY: No argument there. Let’s do more outreach to the disembodied. Huma, channel Betty Friedan. Ask her to found the League of Dead Women Voters. Brock, order up ten million Johnnie Cochranized bumper stickers: “If you’ve gone and died, don’t be denied.’’ Bill, use your mojo and book a rally at St. Patrick’s Cathedral on All Souls’ Day.
BILL: Precious, I don’t think . . . .
HILLARY: Shuddup, Bill. I don’t care what you think. Do what you’re told or I won’t let you vet the interns.
This is an adaptation of an earlier piece.
Original lyrics by Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller
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