Dear Diary,
I’ve written a poem for the holidays! It helps me get out my anger so much more constructively than shouting at the help or running over squirrels with the limousine.
‘Twas the night before Christmas
(and Hanukah, too. And Kwanzaa and Solstice and whatever the hell else you want to do).
Bill was a-gropin’; I was giving a speech.
(It’s a quarter-mil fee, Bill. So now who’s the leach?)
America’s thinking of good Christmas cheer
but not me! I’m all about running next year.
On the red side, opponents line up one and all: Bush, Christie, Rick Perry, and Crazy Rand Paul.
And on my side a few more pop up–they’re so borin’!
Except for that nutcase, Elizabeth Warren.
Elizabeth Warren! Her policies? Dreck.
Thinks she can run banks cos she once cashed a check.
She’s never run anything more than her mouth.
(I’m from there. That stuff never flies in the South.)
She’s socialist! ‘cept when it comes to the pork.
(I’m from there. That stuff sorta-flies in New York.)
So she gets some good press for a while cos she’s new.
(Or Indian! What in the world should I do?
I know! I’ll just say that I’m black or a Jew.
Oh, wait–not a Jew, we’re for Palestine. Wow,
I forgot Dems like anti-Semites just right now.)
I so miss the days when all I had to do
was to buy a new dress or just get a new ‘do
And the papers would say "Vera Wang or J. Crew?"
Nevermind my ideas! "Who’d you wear? Take a stand!"
And you wonder why I wore that tacky headband.
Chief Liz may be up, but imagine the day
when the big questions come, and they won’t go away.
"Can you square the circle like Billy and Hill?
Can you make a lie sound run of the mill?"
I know the secret to winning my base:
Tell the Kos Kids they’re smart and that Rs all eat paste.
Just run as a Dem. Make hypocrisy king–
frame an idea like it was a sciencey thing,
or say "justice" or "race" or "no war" or "fair trade."
Pretend Jon Stewart’s funny, not just selling Kool-Aid.
Don’t draw their eyes to the conflicts you’ve got,
Like "let’s ban cigarettes" but "let’s legalize pot."
Or "diversity’s good" but "some ideas have to go."
And "that proves global warming" whenever there’s snow.
When what to my wondering eyes now appear
But a bright red Camaro–and it’s full of beer.
With a little old driver so tongue-tied and addled
I knew in a moment he must be Joe Biden.
(Yes, diary, I’m aware that part doesn’t rhyme. But it fits, am I right?)
Now I must turn to bed–this champagne is so fizzy!
Next year’s coming fast and I sure will be busy:
More lefties to suck up to, more records to burn
but the question remains: Should I bang an intern?
The Super-Top-Secret, Extra-Personal Campaign Diary of Hillary Rodham Clinton is stolen each week by Lari Vine, the nom de guerre of an obscure playwright and screenwriter living in Washington DC. This diary is made possible by a grant from the United States Constitution, which by now has pretty much given up on being remembered at all.