Live from Sen. Veruca Rodham Salt’s “I Want I Want I Want” Non-Concession Rally in NYC
Last night I attended Hillary Rodham Clinton’s rally-to-nowhere at Baruch College in New York City with the charming ts of Instaputz. This is a photo essay of one of the strangest (and funniest) nights of my life. Enjoy.
While we were waiting in line speaking in hushed tones so that Hillary’s fans around us wouldn’t beat us to death with their big pink boxing gloves and poke out our eyes with their over-sized “REAL MEN vote Hillary” buttons, who should walk along but the slap-happy star of those cloying “Hillary in the House” videos. He was handing out invites for the “NYC premiere” of “Hillary in the White House,” which I think is the same video linked previously, but it could just be a new video of Hillary pounding on the front door of the White House yelling, “Let me in!” The invite had his name on it, Paul Edward Blaise McClure, which is really funny because his name is as long, overwrought, fey and annoying as his latest music video.
After getting in, we proceeded down to the bunker and were happy to see that they were selling beer and wine because we needed to wash the pain away of being forced to wear big Hillary stickers by a semi-large, overly-enthusiastic young man WHO LOVED HILLARY THIIIIIIIISSSSS MUCH (he really, really, really, really does). We nabbed a few seats in the bleachers behind the podium and watched as a woman walked around the stage endlessly by herself not doing much of anything. At first we thought she might have been secret service, but later we learned she was there to do sign language. I guess all that time she was concentrating on how to convey “petulance” while signing, because that’s really hard to do with your hands. Also take notice in the photo of the great job Harriet Christian did duct-taping the back of the stage front. It’s amazing the level of craftsmanship you can get from a second-class citizen in exchange for a bottle of cooking sherry and a bag of throat lozenges.
This is ts drinking beer. I cloaked his identity because he’s not very careful about “sheathing the seed,” if ya know what I mean. I think the crowd was chanting “Denver! Denver! Denver!” at this point, but there were so many of them emoting that our “Chappaqua! Chappaqua! Chappaqua!” chant went virtually unnoticed. I think the woman in front of us, who kept telling her daughter to smile all night, may have heard us, though. I’d like to apologize to her for ruining her evening and for the fact that her daughter very obviously didn’t give a shit about Hillary’s grit or her determination. That must’ve really sucked for her. Children are complicated, especially when their mothers are wiccans.
At one point a whole bunch of photographers ran over to take a picture of this woman because someone told them it was Erykah Badu, but they all got bummed out when they got closer and found out it was just Rep. Debbie Wasserman Schultz (D-FL) who accidentally had a dinner napkin adhered to her head because, once again, Debbers got a little carried away with the hair spray. Oopsie! Nothing ever turns out well for Floridians. :(
This man, who I will refer to as Gay Out-of-Towner With An Unfortunate Haircut, got really angry with a guy sitting near us, who I found out later wasn’t supporting anybody, and at one point his boyfriend had to hold him back as he yelped, “People like you are the reason I’m voting for John McCain!” I thought that was pretty funny for a whole bunch of reasons he probably wouldn’t understand and then I whisked myself away to an imaginary land where spiteful people with unfortunate haircuts didn’t have the right to vote or get within ten city blocks of me. Then I went to buy more beer.
Finally, Terry McAuliffe came out and he started dancing around the stage like Frankenstein’s monster and then the song “Monster Mash” kicked in and he really started getting into it and I thought that was weird because I thought “monster” was a bad word and stuff but Terry seemed to be having the time of his life furiously dancing around the stage like a monster and everything and, well, that’s all that really matters, right?
After Terry finished off by breakdancing to a couple of Sugarhill Gang songs and handing out Yukon Jack sun visors to the winners of his “Guess How Many Badgers Are Hiding in My Pants?” contest, Hillary was gently lowered onto the stage from the rafters by a hundred doves and she proceeded to sing songs that were so heavenly only angels and Huma Abedin could hear them. I know the pundits and every last person with anything resembling a soul in the world thought her performance was selfish, petty and ungracious, but I tell you, you had to be there to appreciate how ethereal and moving it was. For the first time in my life, I felt at peace with myself. After all she’s been through, I thought to myself, “And still she shines - just like polished gold.”
After her speech Hillary was joined on stage by Bill and Chelsea. I like to call this photo: “What in the fuck is he doing to me and when will it stop?”
Eventually Hillary was joined on stage by her family, the last remaining African Americans in the country who still support her, Terry McAuliffe, Debbie Wasserman Schultz and the dinner napkin. If you look closely you can see Terry giving someone in the bleachers the hand signal for “make sure the eightball is taped to the back of the toilet tank.”
This is Chelsea Clinton. As ts noted on the subway ride home, when she’s looking down, she looks like Mira Sorvino. When she looks up, guess who she looks like? Chelsea Clinton. How fucking unreal is that?
This is a picture of the top of Bill Clinton’s head. Up close his hair looks like cotton candy, which is really weird because it actually tasted salty.
This is another picture of Bill. I shook his hand. So did ts. He was a very good president. Okay, now I’ll go back to being a dick.
This is a photo I took of a random Hillary supporter as we were leaving the gymnasium. I’m not sure why, but they all seem to love sticking shit to their foreheads. When they die I hope they all reincarnate as race cars or refrigerators or bulletin boards or anything else that people like sticking shit to because they’d all be really happy about it.
This is a fuzzy shot of the press room. That guy in the middle is Dana Milbank, a reporter for The Washington Post and a frequent guest on Keith Olbermann’s Countdown. At first I thought he was the guy who called Chelsea a prostitute, but then I realized the guy who did that was NBC’s David Schuster. They’re both nerds and they both think about prostitutes all the time, so I always get them confused. Originally, I thought the guy in the light-colored jacket in the front was Harold Ickes, but then I realized he wasn’t wiping babies’ blood off of his lips, just V8 juice.
This is what Andrea Mitchell looks like from the back. I thought you should see that.
This is ts and me posing with Andrea. As I noted in a previous post, she smelled like elderberries. I decided when I was walking home half-drunk last night that it would be really funny if I crudely photoshopped Tony DeFranco’s head over our faces. I think this explains why so many people in the world have given up drinking.
THE END
(seriously, please, for the love of god, let it be the end. really. enough. now. done.)
UPDATE: There’s a small, cynical part of me that’s skeptical about this news, but if it’s true and handled correctly, you’re probably reading the last anti-Hillary or anti-Hillshill post you’ll ever see on Rumproast. The rabidly anti-Obama dead-enders who are still yipping and yapping after Saturday will no longer be considered to be Hillshills or associated in any way with her campaign. Going forward they will be classified as straight-up wingnuts and treated accordingly. [link via Balloon Juice]
Posted by Kevin K. on 06/04/08 at 05:36 PM • Permalink
Categories: Images • Knee Slappers • Politics • Election '08 • Hillary Clinton • Polisnark •
