It depends on what the meaning of “Who bitch this is?” is

Hillary Clinton’s feminist smarm offensive knows no lower bound. While I was in line at Supercuts the other day, I came across a multipage series of feature stories on HRC in Us Weekly (the sort of garbage-ass celebrity gossip rag that is inevitably floating around the waiting room at Supercuts) including comments more or less verbatim what Clinton told an audience in South Carolina months ago:

Clearly I’m not asking people to vote for me simply because I’m a woman. I’m asking people to vote for me on the merits. And I think one of the merits is I am a woman and I can bring those views and perspectives to the White House.

For the love of God (which, by the way, Hillary Clinton professes to feel stirring in her heart because Wow Much methodism Such charitable works Many epistle of st james Very johnwesley), this is an extreme atrocity upon the English language even by the standards of American politics today. It’s beyond parody. Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, Seth Meyers, and Leslie Jones drunk off their asses all night wouldn’t be able to come up with anything so absurdly shameless. It doesn’t even rise to the level of sophistry, not by a long shot. Hillary crudely cobbled together two blatantly contradictory statements in the hope that whichever the electorate found less objectionable would negate the other one and propel her into the White House for the second time. This wasn’t a one-off gaffe, either: it’s a recurrent talking point. It’s a retarded non-argument that can only work with a deeply intimmehdated electorate.

One can’t even. It’s really quite dumbfounding. Maybe that’s one of the points, to reduce Clinton’s opponents to inchoate gibberish or strings of ad hominem obscenities by deploying talking points that make “Awwhh, Timmeh….JIMMEHJIMMEHJIMMEHJIMMEH!” sound like Washington’s farewell address. And you do recall that, Katie door the bar, H. Rodham Clinton is a lawyer. Popular distrust and hatred of lawyers doesn’t come out of nowhere. More than a few of them misuse top-notch educations in logic, rhetoric, writing, history, philosophy, ethics, and the law to learn how to advance some of the most unfathomably bogus and evil arguments for the most appallingly mercenary reasons, arguments so intellectually and morally embarrassing that few laymen would try to equal them even when stone drunk. Hillary’s non-meritorious merit of womanhood non-argument is even worse than the “I’m not racist, but….” expositions of paranoid reactionary racism that I encountered from a number of my colleagues at the blueberry farm last summer. Ron Johnson didn’t order his men to kettle and falsely arrest protesters and reporters, but, you know. Hillary isn’t an incorrigible twatrag, but, again, you know. You feel me? Actually, Mr. Hastert, I’d prefer it if you didn’t feel me. CHESTERFIELD WHO!

My leg. The other Clinton, of course, may be the most infamously dissembling American lawyer ever to publicly practice these dark arts. To none too loosely paraphrase the Big Dog, Existence: What is it all about? And to be, in the third-person singular, or not to be: what is that all about? Is it good, or is it wack? If it means that I’m getting into trouble for sticking that fine Cuban into Miss Lewinsky’s sweet, sweet humidor, I’d say that it’s wack. A big difference in this case, of course, was that Bill was under legal siege by public moralists including Larry “Nasty, Naughty Boy” Craig, Kenneth Starr, and J. Denny Dundiddly for having engaged in an unusually sublimated affair with a starfucking intern. A chorus of what turned out to be serial adulterers, gateside downlow cruisers, and child molesters hired a smirking bespectacled dork to rake the big man on campus and his side piece over the coals for having done some oral and cigar play about as discreetly as a sitting president can do anything in the White House. As pathetic as Bill Clinton’s evasions under pressure were, the whole sordid spectacle looked better on him than it did on the Congressmen and special prosecutors who were persecuting him and his mistress. He hardly even tried to make his denials look plausible; it was pretty obvious that he was trying to do the minimum to get that posse of psychosexually preoccupied freaks to shut the hell up and wander away.

Bill Clinton isn’t a try-hard, or at least wasn’t until his wife’s desperate will to power started going to everyone’s head. He’s still pretty smooth compared to Hillary, who is one of the most insufferable try-hards on the American political scene today. The public aesthetics of Hillary’s clunky aggression alone are a strike against her. Maybe the worst possible outcome of her socially retarded crudity would be for her to be savvy enough to win the presidency in spite of her blatant gracelessness and for her unwashed public manners to annoy the hell out of two thirds of the country for four or eight years. With Bill, for all the looting and sacking he did, at least his sheer charm numbed the pain while the scamming and vandalism were in progress. We slouched towards Gomorrah, but we slouched towards Gomorrah in style.

What Hillary offers the electorate, especially its men and its poorer women, is to be tied up in the basement by a gang of yuppie shrews and punished with a regimen of R. Kelly watersports and lectures about manners and personal responsibility. The voters who can tolerate this prospect are mostly the ones who believe that they’ll be exempted from the punishment. Hence the odd bedfellows coalition of yuppie feminists and male allies, who assume that they’ll be treated tolerably well as something resembling equals in the project to plunder the commonweal, and black voters who assume that they’ll continue to be treated tolerably well as trusted subalterns. Of course, “black voters” are a category error: younger, more urban, and Northern black voters are much more likely than the mainstream media will admit to be eager to live in the berned-over districts, and Sanders was not off-base to concede that he didn’t expect to do very well among rural Southerners against a conservative challenger. We might say that it takes a Community to raise a nominee, and that the Community has been offered Opposing Viewpoints of “The Democratic Primary Process: the billionaire oligarchs are doing this whole country bogus” v. “The Democratic Primary Process: don’t be an Uncle Tom, now, baby girl.” The Clinton machine is exploiting black voters in a stunningly craven and racist fashion, and the mainstream media, nominally keeping watch with hawk’s eyes for evidence of structural racism, are giving them a pass. We shouldn’t expect any better of them, though. Remember “the first black president?” Barack Obama was something of an obscurity in Chicago politics when Toni Morrison was used as cover to float this line about Bill Clinton in the nineties.

I can speak much more pointedly to the sexual dynamics of Clinton’s campaign. She’s accusing the entire swath of men who are not behind her in lockstep of being opposed to her on account of nothing but chauvinism and misogyny. No matter what we do to articulate objections to her specific policies, record, and coalition–her weaseling on TPP, the Travel Office night of the long knives, her assembly of cutthroat Lean In social climbers under the false banner of womanly solidarity, her gross mistreatment of the Secret Service and anyone else she regarded as the help, her probably criminal self-dealing on the commodities markets, the barely legal scam that was Whitewater, her provocation of bloodbaths from Benghazi to Raqqa, her carpetbagging into New York, her reactionary belligerence in the Senate, her complicity in a coup in Honduras (almost certainly increasing the extreme poverty, violence, and dysfunction that keeps bleeding over the Mexican and US borders in the form of an ongoing refugee crisis), her solicitation of bribes through speaking honoraria and the Clinton Global Foundation, her smearing of other women as bimbos not only for accusing her husband of unwanted groping but even for accusing him of forcible rape–no matter how many substantive, nonvaginal objections we raise, Hillary Clinton reflexively insinuates that we’d support her if we weren’t indulging in our own penis privilege and hatred of uppity women. As far as she’s concerned, we’re already male chauvinist pigs for not supporting her, and the millions of American women who agree with us about any of these objections have a special place awaiting them with Lucifer, according to His spokeswoman Madeleine Albright. (We might call this a take so hot it’ll turn a bitch’s heart into a lake of fire.)

No. Hillary Clinton is the terminally flooded cuntplug here, not anyone else. (Well, maybe Albright, and maybe Gloria Steinem–but just maybe.) Few of us would ever use such language to describe a decent woman. It’s been said that a man should treat a lady like a whore and a whore like a lady. Hillary Clinton is a third category, combining the moralistic coarseness of Mother Angelica with the homicidal will to power of Aileen Wuornos. If we’ve already been cast as misogynists by this hideous social climber, we might as well use the freshest (or not-so-freshest) sexist language we can think up to hit back at the bitch.

Hillary Clinton will not reciprocate any goodwill shown her by her opponents, real or perceived. Just look at how she has  reciprocated the immense goodwill and loyalty shown her by the Secret Service. She engages in moral parasitism so extreme that the country probably can’t take much more of it. Consider the collapsing morale and mission readiness of the Secret Service. Word is getting out into the applicant pool that the job isn’t just difficult but truly beyond thankless much of the time. Turnover is skyrocketing. An internal culture of raw power and the rule of men is replacing a formerly stellar culture of service, sacrifice, and the rule of law, to the point that senior agents have been allowed to take mulligans for driving drunk into the scenes of active bomb investigations, over the objections of junior uniformed personnel who wanted to administer field sobriety tests. The Clinton legacy may before long include the ruination of what may well be the best palace guard in world history. The Secret Service is coasting on institutional inertia these days. A continued supply of dutiful Mormons and shanty Irish looking to better themselves is not a given. It’s already starting to run out.

Clinton and the bourgeois portion of her base are tone-policing scolds too self-serious to tell the difference between actual misogyny and sexually tinged insults provoked by disgust over first-strike feminist sexism against the marginalized. If that’s you, I cannot fucking help you. If I encounter some woman yelling about how her boyfriend is a fucking cocksucking dickhead, I figure that I’m not her boyfriend, so she isn’t calling me a dickhead. This is one of the advantages of not being psychotic. Unless you’re Hillary Clinton, I did not just call YOU a cuntplug. Hillary and some seasonal berry picker are no more a part of a transcendent communal font of womanhood than Eminem and I are persons of a transcendent communal manhood. Dude has troubles that I have no inclination to help him fix, and I’m blessed not to have him in my life.

It’s worth repeating that Clinton and a great many of her bougies are exactly the sort of people who would rather that I starve and freeze to death on a park bench than share their labor market with me. There’s hardly any goodwill for me to reciprocate to these bullies. There’s even less cause for the truly down-and-out or tenuous to extend the least bit of goodwill to them. Let’s be blunt: the policies that they are attempting to force on the country by exploiting low or deliberately suppressed voter turnout among the middling and poor will increase rates of substance abuse, mental illness, domestic violence, poverty, unemployment, homelessness, general sickness, suicide, and orphanhood. “Go to hell, you filthy cunt” is a restrained response.

Us Weekly didn’t stop at its fawning “interview” of Clinton (read: PR copy under a “staff” byline). It also included quick “interviews” with celebrities for Hillary. One of these was with Jamie Lee Curtis, who posed with a Hillary button over her left eye (good grief) and gushed that Hillary is such a wonk that she thinks of her as Willy Wonka. Gooder grief, I guess. And Jenna Fischer is called that because she works sixteen-hour days on the Downeaster Alexa out past Block Island, where Confucius say, woman sure to come back with red snapper. Never mind that. Willie Wonka is a gibberish name concocted for an acid-trip story about a Victorian clown running a chocolate factory. Is Jamie Lee Curtis a retard, too? She certainly hasn’t acquitted herself well with all the damn yogurt commercials.

Oh, and Clinton “admitted” to really digging hot peppers and hot sauce and whatnot. This reminds me of how I sometimes go to Maverick and load down a cheddarwurst with a big-ass pile of kraut, and then a two-ply layer of pickle chips, and then some chipotle mayo, and then some regular mayo on top of the chipotle mayo, and maybe some sidewinder fries if Maverick is being super bae, or a pork BBQ bundle if I know I’ll be sort of near a toilet, and how I eat there because it’s less bankrupting than places that expect tips, like Denny’s, and also no one in my extended family has ever taken a hundred million dollars’ worth of post hoc bribes from the banking industry for repealing Glass-Steagall.

I want that woman to be president as badly as I want a homeless person to shit and piss on the floor of a Starbucks bathroom for a third time while I’m trying to work (sic?) there. The difference, of course, is that any poor bastard working the counter that day can mop up the yuck off the floor, while it would take a Stauffenberg or an Oswald to mop up the Clintons. Yes, we try to use ballots rather than bullets in our republic. Usually, unless the industrialists have a job offer for General Butler or that kind of thing. These days, the financiers have the Clintons, so they don’t have to bother trying to corrupt some decent old soldier. Goldman Sachs bitch both dog is. Even good old Smedley himself would have to admit that this is classic Americanism.

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