In the wee hours of November 9th, the world was stunned. Trump had secured a majority of delegates in key states past a point of return. Although Clinton did not properly concede or address her heartbroken supporters until ten hours had gone by, it was clear after Florida that there was no going back, and that Donald Trump would be the 45th president of the United States. Liberals were hysterical. From my personal Facebook feed to rich, powerful public figures, no one seemed to have a grip. And months later, it seems that very few on the left have gotten a grip.
In the chaos and discord, someone that we only heard from when she was stumping for her mother’s presidential campaign suddenly became a lot more vocal, and took a liking to twitter. And like a deformed, genetically mutated phoenix, she rose from the ashes of her mother’s disgrace.
And I, for one, have had it.
The Clinton family is like a hydra, and no matter how many heads America slices off, another one grows uglier and more annoying than the last, and begs us to vote for it.
Bill was likable, but he was impeached. Hillary was humiliated in 2008, and obliterated in 2016. And now their daughter is in my timeline day after day after day, inducing a slow building anxiety of a 2020 run.
There have been rumors of her running for every office under the sun, and she has denied them and coyly side stepped the questions about her political ambitions. But make no mistake. Rich people don’t just start tweeting for no reason, and Chelsea Clinton definitely isn’t the one doing the tweeting. Consultants are desperately trying to make Chelsea hip, likable and relatable and I’m slowly dying in the inside, tweet by tweet. Yesterday she appeared on the cover of a special edition of Variety honoring New York women in an outfit that just happened to be screeching at the top of its lungs for the millennial vote, and I’m supposed to believe she’s not running for office. Right.
To an extent, I feel bad for her. Unlike the Trump children, the Clinton heiress doesn’t do anything. I doubt that she personally wants anything to do with public office, but the Clintons owe favors to too many people to run out of the commodity that they’ve been selling for so long: power. Notice how drastically Clinton Foundation donations dropped after November? That’s because Hill Dawg lost her point of leverage, and her product. Let’s not kid ourselves about the authority she still has in DC; she literally has that town in her back pocket. But she can no longer sell influence. So the burden has fallen on do-nothing Chelsea to save the dynasty.
In one of the earliest scenes of Little Miss Sunshine, the eccentric coke addict grandfather goes on a rant about dinner.
“What’s that chicken? Every night it’s the fucking chicken! God almighty! Is it possible just once we could get something to eat for dinner around here that’s not the goddamn fucking chicken?!”
Replace chicken with Clintons, and that’s how I feel.
For the love of all that is good and pure, accept defeat, and stop trying to make Chelsea happen. It’s not us, it’s you. Leave us alone