Act III, Parody. Another Day in the Life of Hillary at Home With Bill.

black wooden cabinet under two women paintings
Photo by Christa Grover on

The scene is Hillary and Bill relaxing in their Chappaqua, NY,  living room reading the newspaper in the afternoon, a box of Hillary’s newly released book on the floor.


Well, Bill it’s five o’clock somewhere.

Hillary cackles as she pours her first glass of Chardonnay for the day.


What do you think about this AG Barr character traveling to other countries digging up dirt on the 2016 election?  And he’s traveling with a topnotch lawyer. Do you think we’re in jeopardy?


It’s just another vast right-wing conspiracy trying to bring us down, dear.  They’re obsessed with us.


But they may be digging into my tarmac meeting, your staged interview with the FBI, and even the missing emails, not to mention our connections to these countries.


I don’t care.  We’re untouchable.  They tried with Whitewater, then with Monica, and finally Benghazi.  They failed before and will fail again.  They’re all a bunch Barney Fifes. Obama’s got our back.  He’s even more untouchable.


I’m not so sure.  Obama’s got his own troubles with his unprecedented unmasking when he left office. Trump’s out for revenge for the Insurance Plan, the spying on his campaign, the Mueller sham, and the Kavanaugh smear.  We may have gone too far, Hill.  Barr looks as serious as a heart attack.  I hate to tell you, but our jig is up, dear.


Chillax! Stop being such a Debbie Downer. All’s I need to do is fake another fall in public view and the fawning press will surround me; then have my doctor report something serious and, viola, it’ll change the news cycle. Not to worry honey.  I’ve got this. I’ve gotten you out of jams before and will again. Besides, I’ve spoken to Brennan, and he’s planted a rogue CIA agent in the White House to get some impeachable dirt on that current occupant of the Oval Office. They’re changing the “whistleblower” criteria as we speak.

Hillary fills her wine goblet to the rim again and takes a large chug, some splashing onto her pants suits. She cackles as she wipes the wine from her jacket with a cloth.


You’ve always got something up your sleeve, don’t you? I suggest we leave the country for a while, maybe a trip to Paris?  Parlez vous francais?


That’ll look great in the press.  I can hear Hannity now, “The Clintons have left the country to an undisclosed location. What are they running from?” Thanks, but no thanks Bill. I’ll stay here and go on a book tour with Chelsh. I hate FOX News!


Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I may go to a private island somewhere.

Bill got a faraway look in his eyes.


Speaking of suits.  I have to get out of this blistering hot pants suit.  Run the bath for me, dear, while I fill my glass.  Add some bubble bath. I need a long soak while I plan our next move. And you’re not going to that damn island again!  Epstein is dead, remember?  God, you’re getting senile.


He rolled his eyes before heading to the bathroom to run her bath as he mumbled something under his breath.

bathroom interior
Photo by Deeana Garcia on

Another Day in the Life of Hillary at Home with Bill.


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