Exclusive! We've Tracked Down the Original Introduction to Hillary Clinton's New Memoir!
The release of Hillary Clinton's much buzzed about new memoir on the 2016 election, Donald Trump, Seriously? You’ve Gotta Be Fucking Kidding Me has prompted a flurry of accusations that Clinton was blaming others for her loss and refusing to accept responsibility for her mistakes.
That may or may not be true. We haven’t had a chance to read the memoir yet, but in one of those strange coups that litter the history of this site, we’ve somehow come across the original introduction of the book.
In it she seems to take much more responsibility for her loss, as you can see below:
Might as well get this out of the way up front: I fucked up.
Yes I did.
If you want to know who is responsible for my loss and Trump’s Presidency, it’s me.
I did it. I did all of it. No one else was responsible, just the sick fuck I’m cursed to have look at in the mirror every morning.
It started long ago. I was, I guess, what you’d call a female “cuck", because I convinced my pious and more or less celibate husband Bill that it would be a huge turn on if he had sex with other women, but only if he could harm my political career and his own in the process.
It was me, wicked, guilty, unforgivable me, who told Bill that he had to “Pokemon Go! and get a blowjob from that White House intern.” I know the timeline for that doesn’t make sense but the power of my evil is so strong that it can bend time to its will.
Decades later, I told Anthony Weiner that his wife Huma, like me, was a female cuck, and that nothing got her more hot and bothered than the idea of the father of her child and the man she chose to build her life around sending steamy text messages to impressionable women, the younger the better.
In the new book, Clinton devotes no less than ten chapters to her life as a witch.
I encouraged Weiner to use my private email server for his gross perversions, and sent all his emails to James Comey, who i encouraged to publicly bring up the investigation into my email servers mere days before the election. “Never hurts to remind the public what a gross, unethical piece of shit I am, LOL” I emailed him two weeks before my shocking and richly merited loss.
I’d also like to apologize for making our country sexist. Before I threw my hat in the ring we lived in a feminist utopia where strong women were only ever celebrated and honored, particularly in realms where they’re liable to compete with men. Women had it easy in our culture. Until I ruined everything, women famously made one dollar and seventy cents to every dollar a man made, but my terrible campaign single-handedly created so much anger and sexism that now women actually make 30 percent less than men. That’s what economists call the “Hillary Factor.”
Moreover, by viciously and unscrupulously defeating the Christ-like figure of pure compassion that is Bernie Sanders in the primaries, I robbed young people of what they need most—inspirational proof that a white, heterosexual old man could be elected President of the United States.
Let’s face it: if I hadn’t ordered my sinister minions to illegally rig the primaries, Bernie Sanders would have scored the most decisive victory in the history of American politics. After all, if there’s one thing the American public loves more than Jews, it’s Socialism and Socialists.
On paper, Sanders looked unbeatable: he was a more or less a complete unknown, from a tiny hippie state, ancient, with a long history of questionable votes, strange statements and problematic writing who an unrepentant capitalist like Donald Trump would hammer relentlessly as the second coming of Karl Marx. I should have stepped aside and let him cruise to a landslide victory, but my womanly ego somehow convinced me I might be a more electable candidate than Sanders.
I accidentally created both Isis and the Alt-Right by being such a shitty Democrat. It’s bad enough that I gave speeches to big banks for millions of dollars: I made it worse by starting an Instagram account that consists solely of me and Bill counting giant stacks of hundred dollar bills and swimming around in a vault of gold coins, Scrooge McDuck style.
I took away the coal mining jobs. I encouraged millennials to “kill” or “disrupt” pretty much every industry, from wine to razors, thereby throwing the economy into a tailspin it will probably never recover from.
My advisors encouraged me to reach out to unhappy white working-class voters. I told them to cram it, because the only part of the public I cared about reaching were disabled, underage trans illegal immigrants in prison. When my concerned staff told me that demographic couldn’t even vote I fired them all and replaced them with temps from a staffing agency perversely devoted only to losing political campaigns.
They told me to make a big statement in support of the white working class. I told them those racist morons could all Pokemon go and fuck themselves, because I give zero fucks about anyone who’s not an oppressed minority. Identity politics for life, baby! There's a reason I wanted my campaign slogan to be "Kill Whitey!"
I was the one who baked all of those molested children into pizzas. Pizzagate is true, of course, but it’s only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my unconscionable perversions. If InfoWars and Breitbart only knew!
The American political system was incorruptible and pure, and I messed it up for everyone.
There’s really only one exit strategy for me at this point and that is, of course, to commit ritualistic suicide, or Seppuku, out of shame. As everyone knows, my favorite movie is Paul Schrader’s Mishima. I’m always telling people to Pokemon Go to Amazon and buy the Criterion Collection DVD and people just look at me sadly and ask if I’m doing alright.
I always thought that’s how I should go out: committing Seppuku after a botched coup attempt by my private army.
So by the time you read this I will have died the most dramatic death in American political history (I’m even going to Periscope, Snapchat and Facebook Live it!), but I know, deep down in my bones, that even that is nowhere near enough to atone for my sins.
May God have mercy on my soul.
HRC
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