"Oh waiter, waiter, get me another glass of wine."
Hillary Clinton smiled at the handsome young waiter, who was also the bartender at Taste of France in a suburb of Flint, Mich., and then scowled at her significant other. Bill Clinton was slumped over in a chair. He looked down at his shining black Oxford shoes and wished he'd never entered politics. He wished that he had married a hillbilly girl from Arkansas and worked his entire life loading poultry into crates at a truck farm in the Deep South somewhere.
"Oh thank you," Hillary Clinton said as the waiter brought her another glass of white wine.
"So during that Republican National Convention all of those rednecks were yelling 'Lock her up! Lock her up! Lock her up!' Billy, my love, and I really, really mean this at the bottom of my heart, do you think they're going to throw my old ass in a federal prison?"
"No dear. We're above the law. And let's get this straight, my love, you have no heart. You have the heart of a giant squid. But back to your original question: You really could have deleted a hundred thousand emails, maybe even a million emails, and they wouldn't do a thing to you," Bill Clinton said, sipping on a cup of coffee. He had his obligatory glass of wine with his wife. It was some fancy-shmnasy vino fino imported from France and it was bottled when Louis V took power.
"I think that lunatic is going to wallop me, Bill. I think the first thing he's going to do is throw me in a federal prison."
"No dear, you have no need to worry. Donald Trump's got about as much political sense as a NASCAR driver wheeling around in a cotton field."
"Oh waiter, waiter, another glass of wine. As long as it's wet and has alcohol in it. Even Mad Dog will do right now," Hillary said, trying to be chummy with the waiter, who just looked at her strangely.
"Hey, aren't you Hillary Clinton?" the waiter asked.
"I sure am. Now fetch that glass of wine, you dumbass. Make it quick and make it stick!"
"Okay. Okay. You look a little rough, but I could tell that somewhere under that messy mop of hair and all those bandages, you are indeed Hillary Clinton."
The waiter took off around the corner to get Hillary another glass of wine. Hillary had bandages all over her face because at a speech in Omaha, Neb., two nights before she ran smack dab into a door jam when she was a bit tipsy. Then she got into a brawl with a Trump supporter who called her a witch. The guy was a big bruiser and a former semi-pro football player, but Hillary held her own in the street fight. She got a few good kicks and punches in and sort of gloated about it all when the paramedics bandaged her face. She refused medical treatment at the local hospital.
"You scrubbed-up fuckers just wheel me over to the nearest saloon with that ambulance," she ordered. The men did as they were ordered. The woman was Hillary Clinton, after all....
"We have to go over that hate list and add a few more people to it. At the top of the list will be Trump's old lady. Can you believe that speech she gave in Chinese? My God, Bill, she stole the damned thing right from Michelle Obama's speech," Hillary said.
"Yes, dear. We'll add her to the list, too. That list is getting pretty long, though. We can't just go out and kill all these people. The FBI won't like that at all. You think you've had a hard time with all those emails? Huh! Katy bar the door! Holy smokes, Hillary, you've got to lighten up a bit. I thought I was vindictive. You're the wicked witch of the west. You're a female version of Vlad the Impaler with booze on your breath and a hurricane in your heart!"
"I want to put Ben Carson on that hate list, too," Hillary said. "For bringing all that up in his speech at the RNC concerning Saul Alinsky and what Carson said about Alinsky's book Rules for Radicals praising Lucifer for becoming a radical rebel and setting up his own kingdom called Hell," Hillary slobbered, squashing down a half bottle of fine purple elixir, wrapping her lips around the neck of the bottle and guzzling the fermented grape juice down in a few quick swallows.
"Let's leave the good doctor alone, Hillary, he was only doing his job as an RNC speaker."
"I like Alinsky so much that I'm thinking of changing the name of the Democratic Party to the demonic party. What do you think dear?"
"I think that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
Bill Clinton took a sip of his coffee and a pretty woman carrying a pot of black java wandered over and said "Would you like more sir?" Bill Clinton gave her a look-over and smiled wantonly. "No mam. I'm with my wife right now."
The 32-tear-old, single mother of two, divorced and a man-eating monster, smiled at Bill. "Maybe sometime," she said with a dreamy look in her eye. Boy, what would her girlfriends at the nightclub think if she actually did all the nasties - nailed Bill Clinton in the sack - and she would inform the ladies about doing the dirties with a U.S. President? Wouldn't she just be the tigress of the night?! A big FUCK YEAH! thundered through the petite little sex pot's pretty head.
"I think Trump's going to beat me and throw me in prison," Hillary said, guzzling another glass of wine. "Oh waiter, waiter!" she yelled.
Bill just shook his head. When the waiter came over he asked for the check. When the bill was tallied, the meal for the two came to over $70 (it was a high-end restaurant for Flint, Mich., where Hillary gave an address earlier that day). A Michigan State Senator, who was at the speech Hillary gave, advised the Clinton's "Don't drink the water in Flint," and Hillary got a gleam in her eye along with a flutter to her voice and asked the politico, "How's the wine, beer and whiskey here in Flint?" and the black suit just smiled and said, "It's very safe to drink any of those types of alcoholic beverages here, Mrs. Clinton; but please don't do it all at the same time."
The drink tab at Taste of France came to more than a thousand bucks. Bill Clinton breathed a heavy sigh and his chest sank. Although his wife was drinking the best wine in the house, Bill Clinton knew something was amiss. That's a big price tag! screamed though his head. Where had his leading lady gone wrong? He shook his head and a tear trickled down Bill Clinton's face.
"Get us a bottle to go, too," Bill Clinton whispered when the waiter took a stack of cash attached to a plastic dish. "Make it two. Make it three. Even Boone's Farm or Thunderbird will do right now," Bill said softly.
"Hillary, you're sleeping on the floor of the hotel room tonight, dear. I've got the bed," Bill Clinton said, then scooped his leading lady into his arms and carried her out of the Taste of France. Just out the door of the restaurant, a limo driver held a door open for the Clintons.
"Here sir, watch your head" the driver said.
"No, I want to throw her in the trunk. She'll be more comfortable there," Bill Clinton ordered.