Frightening! Hillary and Hubby Return To Haunt Another Deplorable Election

In the Donald’s world, we’re all useful idiots.

Anonymous
Assassination of Archduke Ferdinand,
“The Shot Heard Round the World”

Hillary Rodham Clinton’s (HRC) deplorables remark from way back in 2016 is—even more obviously today—the most deplorable blunder that ever shot out of her mouth.

As utterances go, it was the most like “the shot heard round the world”, the assassination of Archduke Francis Ferdinand which triggered a sequence of events that led to World War I. It had the same impact as a bullet shot from an assassin’s gun; only Hillary’s bullet wasn’t heard around the world as much as it went around the world, like a space capsule or a weather satellite, and kept going until it lodged itself into Hillary’s backside1.

It was a self-inflicted wound, a point of fact that nobody can deny. Hillary’s shot, in the scope of U.S. and world politics, was every bit as monumental as the original shot, the one that started the first World War, for the magnitude of its effect. A terribly savvy or perspicacious person—not necessarily clairvoyant but prone to gamble—could have dashed out to a betting parlor on the day Hillary blundered with her deplorable “deplorables” remark, put her life savings all on the Donald winning in 2016, and, on that single bet, would have earned enough of a bundle to retire on (in the Hamptons).

We are living in a volatile political environment. You know, to just be grossly generalistic [sic], you could put half of Trump’s supporters into what I call the basket of deplorables. Right?

[Laughter/applause]

The racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, Islamophobic — you name it. And unfortunately there are people like that. And he has lifted them up. He has given voice to their websites that used to only have 11,000 people — now how 11 million. He tweets and retweets their offensive hateful mean-spirited rhetoric2.

Excerpt from Hillary Clinton’s “Basket of Deplorables” Speech on Sept. 9, 2016

From that teensy, weensy, phrase, “basket of deplorables”, unmistakably hearkening back to the day when Romneys “binders full of women” became a viral sensation3, politically, HRC was dead, hoisted by her own petard as people like to say, more dead than Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria. Only poor, old Hillary, bless her heart, lacked the presence of mind to realize how defining a moment that was.

Sadly, her second deplorable act was to not exit quietly from political theater because dead is a very difficult state to recover from. So, like any old fighter past his prime who just can’t give up and keeps foolishly returning to the ring for one more bruising, Hillary did just that: she placed an appearance at the 2020 Democratic National Convention, tainting the proceedings with her washedupedness and making it a billion times worse by bringing her husband, William “Can’t keep his junk in his pants” Jefferson “Never met a pedophile whose plane he could board only once” Clinton. Unfortunately, that made a LOT of people think, maybe the Donald ain’t so bad.

It’s not right to call anybody a name, ever, not even if you are Hillary Rodham Clinton. It’s not Christian to judge according to the Bible:

Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.

Romans 12:19, King James Version

It’s not even good Buck Owens:

Refrain from Buck Owens’s hit
“Streets of Bakersfield”4

Human beings are not—to the extent it concerns the moral condition of the soul—supposed to get into the judging business. Hillary judged (or just as badly strung together words in a phrase that sounded like a judgement) and that was her sin.

If Donald Trump is re-elected, it won’t be entirely his fault. Hillary Clinton, by refusing to ride off into the sunset and instead turning up at her party’s national convention, reached over the aisle to President Trump to lend him a hand.

Persona non grata: Waxy Duo of a Fallen Dynasty

The DNC apparently was okay dragging Hillary and Bill, two relics of a fallen dynasty, out onto the virtual stage of its convention. For that, it is implicated, also reaching over the aisle when instead it should have relegated those two to Madame Tussaud’s.

Hillary’s not a bad egg, no worse than you or I. The thing that should strike terror in our hearts is that anyone of us—including all of us who vote—could chillingly have a myopia as great as or greater than Hillary’s.

In Scripture, you find passages that refer to blindness both as a medical condition and a condition of the soul. It is a powerful metaphor used in different ways at different times. Sometimes, often, the eye is not directed at the world but inward. Sometimes the eye represents feelings as in envy (a little bit like the expression, “to be the apple of someone’s eye”). There are several instances of the phrase “scales falling from the eyes”, which gives suggests that one might have unwittingly walked through life blindly only to suddenly “see the light”. So, in that instant, only then does a person realize that while they may have had physical sight, all the while they lacked knowledge of one’s self in relation to the world. In the Book of Matthew there is this:

And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?

Matthew 7:3 King James Version
Too late or too soon?

The thing about the Donald is that he is every bit as blind as dear old Hillary. Undoubtedly much more so5. The thing about us is that we have a lot to account for ourselves. Otherwise, how else can we explain how we, Democrats and Republicans, are on the cusp of re-electing, Donald “Moved on her like a bitch” J. “She was married.” Trump? I cannot say in good faith—despite the conversation recorded on the Billy Bush tape—that Donald’s a pussy grabber. I’ll tell you what though. He sure does brag a lot.


[1] A euphemism.

[2] Time. “Read Hillary Clinton’s ‘Basket of Deplorables’ Remarks on Trump Supporters.” Accessed November 1, 2020. https://time.com/4486502/hillary-clinton-basket-of-deplorables-transcript/.

[3] NPR.org. “‘Binders Of Women’ Becomes Viral Sensation.” Accessed November 1, 2020. https://www.npr.org/2012/10/17/163109387/binders-of-women-becomes-viral-sensation.

[4] Moore, Joe. “Homer Joy, 'Streets of Bakersfield" Songwriter Dies.” Accessed November 1, 2020. https://www.kvpr.org/post/homer-joy-streets-bakersfield-songwriter-dies.

[5] Salon. “Yale Psychiatrist Backs Mary Trump’s Assessment: The President ‘Is Mentally Incapable of Leading,’” July 30, 2020. https://www.salon.com/2020/07/30/yale-psychiatrist-backs-mary-trumps-diagnosis-of-her-uncle-he-is-mentally-incapable-of-leading/.

When you see God, Run for Cover

At least, that’s what Adam did in a moment which we could reasonably call without melodrama the birth of consciousness and self-awareness. It was a brief instant thereafter when God said to Adam (in the greatest rhetorical question of all time)

Who told you you were naked? ~ God

A question that begs another rhetorical question.

Who, indeed? ~ John Poplett

Right away we see that in the very beginning, the very first story in the very first book of Scripture, the Book of Genesis, has Adam—and all of us by proxy— start to look inward, study ourselves and wonder what “makes us tick.” At least, any second now, Adam—conscious of his brand-new conscience—will formulate the question, “What compelled me to cover my private parts with a fig leaf?”.

Beyond question that is a fine opening for a book about the creation of the universe, man, and the rest of God’s creatures.

The next thing that comes to mind whenever I brood on the curse of self-awareness is a complicitous curse, like two dogs who form a pack to kill a squirrel or a chipmunk, that the human animal is complex. I am complex, you are complex, and everybody else I have ever known is also similarly complex with the exception of brain-damaged children who—by some providential accident—were spared their loss of innocence and—despite the stigma of their affliction—possess talents of charm and wonderment that the rest of us tortured souls might have the good sense to envy.

The idea that human most often have conflicting or paradoxical motives simultaneously active and influencing our behavior is exactly what I believe the Roman Catholic religious philosopher Blaise Pascal intended when he wrote:

If he exalt himself, I humble him; if he humble himself, I exalt him; and I always contradict him, till he understands that he is an incomprehensible monster. ~ Blaise Pascal, Pensée #420

It was part of his long meditation on how man can be both simultaneously God-like and a “monster” (in French, Pascal uses the word bête, more like “beast” in English) at the same time. These conflicting, active impulses are what make him “incomprehensible”.

I brood on this so often that I have formed a rule-of-thumb which goes like this:

Do not settle for any explanation of your behavior unless you can come up with five simultaneous motives for that behavior.

By extension, this rule also applies to things you are thinking of doing but have yet to do. It applies to the behavior of strangers and enemies, too. Only recently did it occur to me to put my fancy rule into practice. Yes, I’m that stupid. I thought about it for one or two eternities before I came up with the boffo idea of actually trying it.

In practice, there’s every reason to believe that this rule can pry open a view into your behavior, your spouse’s behavior, or your enemy’s behavior and make that person more real, more dimensional, a person who, by dint of this exercise, is now less of a cardboard cut-out, somebody you might see in a new light with compassion.

For example, as a teenager, I carried a mock coffin, a symbol which represented “our boys coming back in boxes”, in a local protest of the Vietnam war, a gesture that was captured by a television crew and broadcast on a local news station that same evening.

My motives in that moment included at least the following:

  • moral: register my opposition to a war that defied the admonition “Thou Shalt Not Kill”
  • adolescent: get a girl
  • social: look “cool”
  • self-preservation: end the war before I was inducted

Okay, four out of five just one shy of my arbitrary dictum. Not bad. All of those I am sure were active when I acted as a faux pall bearer in a bit of street theater. In hindsight, I could add a fifth, which was probably somehow astir in my mind even back then:

  • civic: exercise my right to freedom of speech as guaranteed under the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution.

Right now I am preparing for a nine hundred mile bike ride around Lake Michigan. Since that is one heckuva trek, I deem it prudent to identify my motives and expose them to you (whoever you are and whatever brought you to this page) if nothing else as a mild form of entertainment (emphasis on mild).

Here goes. On this ride, I intend to:

  • test my mettle
  • raise money for charities to benefit people who are suffering on the west side of Chicago and the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota
  • promote the idea of a different kind of U.S. Corporation, a “virtue-forward corporation”, which is aggressively kinder and aggressively more patriotic than corporations are typically today in America (say, for example, Monsanto, Google, BP, and Nike)
  • demonstrate that Black Lives Matters does not necessarily involve Marxism or violence or even “blacks”
  • assert a vital connection between black lives matters, blue lives matters, teachers lives matters, Scotch-Irish lives matter, First nation lives matter, etc.
  • make a pitch for unity and an end of this era of crippling divisiveness
  • signal my virtue
  • discover things about myself I currently don’t know
  • assert the primacy of action over protest
  • grieve
  • manage my fear of sitting home alone in a responsible way
  • find a path to reconcile with friends, among them my dearest, whom—in this era of division and the “fog of protest” which still shrouds the BLM movement—I injured or insulted

That’s twelve and still counting; any one of which is motivation enough in itself! Well, subtract virtue signaling and that’s still nine out of ten.

Nine hundred miles is a long way. I made a similar trek twelve years ago. For that trek, I raised $20,000 for a local mental health agency. Only on that occasion, I was extremely fit and only logged a scant six hundred miles. My left foot was pristine and had not been operated on three times. I was taller and had brighter teeth.

Can I make it? I honestly don’t know. Today a minor drop in daytime temperature and gusty winds made me feel a micro-fracture in my resolve. At least we know, I have motivation. At least we know, I’ll be making my attempt under open skies, right there, as my father used to say, “in front of God and everybody”.