Hillary Clinton Is a Phony and Maybe Your Alien OverlordBy J.P. Barbacoa
Hillary Clinton is a criminal and a phony. If you can’t see that by now, I don’t know how to help you. Get your eyes checked. Get your ears checked. Have a doctor look at your heart and soul.
She’s something like a cross between a shark and the T-10000, and I think the typical human response to her presence—even the sight of her on television—is something like the sensation of stumbling upon a rattlesnake or mountain lion in the wild. The oldest parts of the brain recoil; an elevated survival instinct kicks in; adrenaline and fear sweat surge.
Hillary Clinton is perhaps The Apex Predator, and I have no doubt that she would kill John Connor if she thought for even a second that it might help her win this election.
I’m not saying I blame Hillary Clinton for any of this. Much like we do with Bengal tigers and great white sharks, we should strive to replace our deep-seated biological fear with respect, with a certain level of cautious reverence for The Apex Predator. But alas, under no circumstances should we put this awesome killing machine in charge of our lives.
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Hillary Clinton is both the Hubert Humphrey and the Ed Muskie of this election. She is a classic reactionary posing as a progressive. However, even Humphrey made a point to back his phony leftism with empty, bleary-eyed speeches about ending the Vietnam war and such.
From Hillary Clinton, we get not even the miserable theatrics of Hubert Humphrey, not even the Ibogaine antics of Ed Muskie.
As anyone paying attention knows, Hillary’s “progressive politics” are tantamount to empty slogans, platitudes, and the cryptic sentiments oft expressed among her legions. Of course, none of these things are backed even remotely by her record.
As an open supporter of US imperial wars (Iraq, Libya, Afghanistan, Pakistan, etc.), a facilitator of violent military regimes abroad (Honduras), an advocate of the mass deportation of child-immigrants from the US, and a social-program-slashing-corporate-stooge, it should be clear that Progressive Hillary™ is about as real as Donald Duck.
If given a choice between the two, I would vote for Donald Duck because he never said anything as racist-apologetic as this:
“If we’re honest, for a lot of well-meaning, open-minded, white people, the site of a young black man in a hoodie, still evokes a twinge of fear.”
No person in their right mind would ever look at Hillary Clinton’s record—as either US Senator or Secretary of State—and say, “Yes, she is a progressive.”
No one. Ever.
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Rumor has it that Hillary Clinton read her wedding vows to William Jefferson Clinton off of a teleprompter.
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Ah yes, The Friends of Hillary Clinton.
Henry Kissinger, perhaps the biggest and most notorious war criminal of the post-WWII era. Madeline Albright, unrepentant child murderer. Lena Dunham, shitbag comedian, lifelong one-percenter. Lloyd Blankfein (kind of), Chairman and CEO of Goldman Sachs. Paul Krugman, hack. Jonathan Chait, dipshit.
Are we done here?
Apology: I did not list Hillary Clinton’s “friends” in the form of corporations that have for years been financing her campaigns.
To do so would have been too tedious and strenuous an undertaking. I was not feeling particularly keen on risking nerve damage to my fingers, hands, and wrists, as I am currently without insurance and therefore without any access to health care.
Thank you for your patience during these economically trying times.
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Okay, I’m not one for conspiracy theories, but a certain rabbit hole has enticed me for years.
It’s this idea that a race of shapeshifting reptilians from the Alpha Draconis star system has lorded over humanity since from time immemorial. The belief is that most of our “leaders,” political and otherwise, are actually members of this diabolical alien race. Some refer to them as “reptoids.”
Ridicuous, I know.
And the literature on this topic is entirely outlandish, unconvincing, and at times utterly abhorrent.
To this day though, when I look at photos of Hillary Clinton, my vision tends to blur ever so slightly. In the photos, her pupils stretch, her skin takes on a scaly texture. Her smile—always a sneer—certainly suggests a conspiracy of some kind. But what could it be? In videos, her laughter rings out like the bellow of an ancient ruler-overseer standing before an entire civilization on its knees, reduced to millennia of servitude and suffering.
But, alas, I’m sure it’s all just a weird coincidence.
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If Hillary Clinton wins the nomination I will puke in the sink.
I will vote for Jill Stein.
I will contemplate the abject doomsday scenario of a choice for US President between Trump and Clinton. Or between Cruz and Clinton.
But undoubtedly between Trump and Trump, really, once the pretenses have been stripped away and the shit starts hitting the nuclear turbine.
I will waffle and bite at my lips for a few months, sure. Ultimately, though, I will purchase a plane ticket from Spirit Airways (they have the best prices). I will fly to Mexico.
I will slip off the radar and spend years developing the beach-bum persona of a strange gringo mystic, a man who'd burned his brain staring directly into the abyss of a society that assented—no, demanded to be subject—to life under the rule of The Thing That Sought to Destroy Them.
I have no doubt that some tales of dystopian ruin and barbaric injustice will reach my ears from The North.
I may even read the “Estados Unidos” section of La Jornada on occasion, whistfully so, of course.
I may even shed a tear for the infernal lands I once called my home.
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Seriously though, I bet Hillary Clinton is one of those fucking reptoid things.
