I admit it. I watched Hillary’s mind-numbing bombastic harangue Thursday night. Well at least as much of the long-winded posturing as I could stomach. I found myself skipping past segments of her outburst the same way I use the high-speed button on my remote to bypass annoying commercials.
After Hillary’s 55-minute onslaught, I tuned in to hear what the pundits were saying. As expected, the fawning CNN analysts were almost unable to speak because of the paroxysmal exhilaration they were experiencing as a result of Hillary’s orotundity.
“Inspiring,” was one word I heard. “Eloquent, substantive, specific,” were other words that bounced between the obsequious bobble-heads on the CNN set.
Inspiring? Eloquent? Substantive? Specific? Not hardly.
Instead, she mentioned Donald Trump something like 20 times in much the same way that the ayatollahs in Iran refer to the United States—as the “Great Satan.”
“Be afraid, be very afraid, be very, very afraid of Trump,” was the subliminal message she disgorged. “But don’t fear me. And don’t worry about the myriad lies I have told and continue to tell in order to deflect blame and enhance my ruthless image. Don’t all you little people concern yourself with the hundreds of millions of dollars foreign governments have transferred into the Clinton Foundation in return for a favor here and there once I occupy the People’s House. Don’t worry about all those classified e-mails I deleted and the fact that FBI Director Comey said I was extremely careless and essentially lied about everything. Don’t worry about my megalomaniac motive for seeking the most powerful office in the world. After all, it’s MY TURN and, and I’m a woman, and I deserve to be President, and don’t you forget it—eh Bernie.”
Ah, Bernie. Such a disappointment. Such a betrayal of the besotted socialists who supported and idolized him during the primaries. Such a washout. Such an anticlimax.
As one disappointed supporter of Bernie Sanders said of the man that the Clintons bamboozled and screwed during the rigged primaries:
“Bernie folded like a wet napkin. I wonder what they did to him to make him turn so meek?”
What’s the answer? A job in Hillary’s administration? A threat? Both? We will never know why Bernie went from being a snarling wolf to an obedient lamb during the Democrat Convention.
But one thing is clear. You don’t mess with the Clintons when they are on the peck. And you especially don’t mess with the malicious woman who has been likened to the Wicked Witch of the West by Secret Service officers and other White House staff during the Clinton’s eight year reign between 1992 and 2000.
But enough of my appraisal. I’m getting a headache just thinking about Hillary’s braying.
I received an email today from the Daily Wire with an analysis by Ben Shapiro that I want to share with my readers.
And following that is a link to another analysis from the National Review that you should take a look at.
From The Daily Wire
By Ben Shapiro
Thursday night, after an interminable speech by boring young Chelsea Clinton introducing her boring old mother, Hillary Clinton, Hillary finally took to the stage. She wore all white. Like an angel. Like a saint. Like an erased server.
And she proceeded to talk.
For fifty-five interminable minutes, the grating old crone spake nonsense into the gaping ears of a gullible media. She spoon-fed them lies about policy. She dropped phrases so hackneyed they ought to have been roasted on an open fire. Still the media cheered.
No matter that the Bernie Bros made trouble throughout, chanting against her. No matter that at certain points, Hillary’s face turned Bilbo-Baggins-yearning-after-Frodo’s-ring. The media, like Samwise Gamgee, would try to carry her over the finish line.
But she’s simply too heavy for any mortal to bear. Her candidacy is an albatross, a millstone. The speech wasn’t just boring. It was ear cancer. It was ebola of the cochlea. She said nothing, and said it poorly.
One thing is clear: Chelsea Clinton got her mother’s gift of gab.
Perhaps the only memorable moments were these: Hillary attempting to look lifelike, instead reciting her speech with the robotic, uncanny-valley creepiness to which we’ve become accustomed; Bernie Sanders nearly weeping when Hillary name-checked him — his face changing momentarily as he grinned the mirthless grin of pure, unadulterated rage; Hillary glaring at the audience that refused to accept her seizure of the throne; Bill glancing around, dazed and happy at the thought that perhaps, just maybe, Hillary would be out of the house for another four years; Hillary talking of glass ceilings, forgetting that nobody thinks she got where she is legitimately; the media furiously pleasuring itself to the pleasant tones of Hillary’s rocks-in-the-garbage-disposal delivery; Hillary cackling at her own wit, the soul-sucking giggle of the damned.
No, this won’t help Hillary. How could it? At least half of her allies died of old age in the middle of the speech, prematurely aged by the sour-lemon oratory. The ratings for this speech must be fabulous – before viewers died, they forgot to turn the channel.
But no matter. There are three more months of this horror. Somewhere, Mitt Romney weeps that he didn’t have the courage to jump into this race. Somewhere, Gary Johnson feels a momentary pang of hope, which he then quickly snuffs out with a blunt. Somewhere, the American people – those who aren’t convinced in their politics by Katy Perry or another rendition of the sophomoric “Fight Song” – think about the end.
This is the political apocalypse.
And we’re only just getting started.
Check out this article in the National Review.