“See You In Hell” — A letter from Hillary Diane Rodham Clinton

My name is Hillary Diane Rodham Clinton, and I have a message to every American out there.

Dear America,

I get it. You hate me, and guess what? That’s ok. I’m sure there are still some bitter Bernie Bros out there who are angry I screwed over their messiah and called them basement dwellers.

I’m even sure there are young people out there who turned sour when I said, “Let’s make an app called PokeMonGo2ThePolls!” Oh yeah, you know, me asking kids in their 20s to take part in democracy sure did make me look like a monster.

And I’m sure there are rednecks in the deep south who see me as the hydra with many heads. I’ve seen their Hillary for Prison signs and their bumper stickers. Absolutely flattering.

Oh, I’m sure the GOP views me as a moody, cold, calculating, bossy and spiteful woman who will rip out their hearts if given the chance. Honestly, I won’t deny that; I am, after all, a Scorpio.

So, with all that out of the way, let’s just light up a Parliament, pour a glass of bourbon on the rocks for ol’ times sake and cut the shit. America, ya’ll messed up big time.

See, if you had elected me, I would have just locked myself up in the White House, leaned back in the chair and yelled, “Fuck yeahhhh, Madame up in this bitch yo!” And I wouldn’t have bothered anyone. Hell, you wouldn’t even had to worry about seeing me for the next 4 years. I would say 8, but who knows? Maybe I would’ve lost in 2020.

Oh, but those emails.

We’re almost eight months into the Trump presidency and ya’ll still can’t get over me. That’s ok. Haters make me famous. Keep talking. At the end of the day, it will be YOU who has to pull the golden blocks to construct the Trump pyramids. When you’re burning on the wastelands that was formerly known as the mid-West, you won’t be thinking of those emails.

When you’re all forced to line up and kiss the asses of Trump statues on Trump day during Trump month, and face certain death if you don’t participate, you won’t be running around wondering what happened with my server.

All you college kids who couldn’t get over Bernie McBern Bern, well, have fun with Betsy; I hear she is quite DeVostating to the education system. But hey, at least you won’t have to worry about fighting off ol’ Hillz… you’ll just have to worry about grizzly bears. Oh my.

If that GOP healthcare bill ever gets passed, you won’t worry about whether or not I wore an American flag pin during the debates, or if I became faint over a spell of pneumonia. Naw, you’ll be paying an arm and leg (literally) to those Republican Repo Men.

Oh, and remember when I warned ya’ll about Russian interference?



Oh, Junior, this bourbon certainly does hit the spot. All I can say is, I love it.

But hey, you gotta admit, I did give it a big run for the money! Shit, I had to battle the unseen intervention of an FBI director with a self-righteous, sanctimonious ego that was tighter than a goose’s ass.

I had to endure slander after the vehemently crazed two decades of right wing propaganda that kept its conspiracy nut job audience boiling in a pot of insanity. I mean, really? A child pornography ring in the back of a pizzeria? Who do I look like? Philip Giordano?

I was subjected to defiant, holier-than-thou sticklers whose privileged and childish refusal to acknowledge that Bencheeto fucking Mussolini was actually a real threat, and that they cut the femoral arteries of democracy by acting stupid and either:

A.) Voting 3rd party.

B.) Not voting and

C.) Writing in Harambe.

That’s right, the only other gorilla besides Donald J. Trump! But above all things, I had to sit back and take the rampant misogyny that everyone tossed at me. Oh, she’s wearing a pantsuit! Does her shoe have a heel? Why doesn’t she wear pink? Give me a break.

Sure, I wasn’t perfect. Sure, my campaign had flaws. Sure, I burned bridges and cut throats to stand at the podium. I own all the shit I did wrong, and you want to know something? I’m still the baddest bitch in town.

Don’t worry about ol’ girl here, I’ll be fine. My gingerbread house in the woods is equipped with a bomb shelter. I’ll wait out the apocalypse while reading Nancy Drew books and using Bill as a foot stool.

America, it truly was an honor being the 67th United States Secretary of State and U.S. Senator who represented New York. I enjoyed being your First Lady and the Democratic nominee for President of the United States of America in the 2016 election. You really are the greatest covfefe in the world.

You might have gotten rid of the swamp, but you can’t swim in a tar pit.

Yours truly,

— H.