It’s such a shame about Hillary Clinton. Right? Sure, she’s a feminist trailblazer and the world might be in a better state if she had been president. Yet imagine having a party. A normal one. In your living room. After the pubs close, say. Not one where you’ve been expecting to talk about global affairs or the state of American democracy. Just something boozy and a bit wild, where people want to talk too loudly and smoke naughty fags outside the back door. Shush, yes, I know you’ve just started an impromptu karaoke rendition of Abba’s “Dancing Queen,” but isn’t that somebody at the door? Oh look. It’s Hillary Clinton. No Bill tonight, eh? Sure, come on in. Gosh, this is awkward. Just an herbal tea? Oh. Where’s everybody gone?
It’s not her fault. Probably. She just presents, in a way, a bit like William H Macy in The Cooler, or perhaps the energy vampire in What We Do in the Shadows, just kinda sucking the zest out of things. “Hey, kids, I’m fun!” she’ll say, and it will be purest Dr Evil trying a robot dance. You know I’m right.
