EXCLUSIVE ANALYSIS: Why Hillary Needs A Viral… I… I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE

Read
(credit: Shutterstock)

Well, between Donald Trump dominating the news cycle with his outrageous claims and the infantile Bernie Sanders nipping at her heels, Hillary Clinton is in dire need of some wins. Don’t count her out just yet — as a veteran Clinton watcher I’ve seen Bill and Hill pull one out when all the cards seemed down.

Slay Queen Hillary’s “A Factor” is her debate performances and mastery of viral campaigning. If the savvy former Senator from New York wants to make a “Big Apple”-worthy splash, she needs to leverage her positives. Hill, you may be going to prison over this horrifying email server felony, but here’s… here’s…

I’m sorry, Dig Heads. I can’t do this. I just can’t do this anymore. Every goddam thing I touch crumbles to dust. I can’t talk about who won the week, when all I ever do is lose them.

I deserve this, in a way. No, I deserve it entirely. No one told me to latch all my hopes onto this idea that I could just run away and build a new life. I’m a failure and a fraud.

Everything’s been downhill since I left my studio apartment and moved in with Tumblr feminist KweenTrashWytch✨✨in her NYU dorm. It’s just.. sometimes, years alone make you grateful for the touch on your hand, the feet nuzzling yours in a lofted bed at night. But when that constant echo of self-doubt withers away you’re left to confront that you’re still you, and you’re still empty inside.

I thought we could work it out. I thought I could be a woke intersectional feminist long enough to make her comfortable in our May-December relationship. But the fighting became unbearable. I was hemorrhaging money paying for her meal plan and her emotional labor. She demanded I give her half my column.

After the final indignity — the removal of my Air Force hero Lindsey Graham posters — I made a resolution. I would stick it out through the holidays, for family’s sake, then consider asking her if we could break up sometime after Valentine’s Day. At least we would have a nice Thanksgiving.

Tomorrow we were going to break out the chairs from the student lounge and host dinner with radio star Michael Smerconish, my friend Frank Luntz, and — most important of all — my beautiful round son Colby. The thought of us gathered around the card table, turkey roasting in the George Foreman grill, sharing stories and bonding with my son was to be proof that I deserved a second chance to get things right. Then, one by one, everything came crashing down around me.

Smerconish emailed me last night to say he mistook me for Col. Lawrence Wilkerson and would not be attending. “I’m sure you get this a lot,” he said in his terse message. Well yes, I do get rejected and humiliated by the comedy of this world a lot.

Then Frank Luntz told me he wouldn’t have it in him to get out of bed that day. I can’t blame him.

As my heart was breaking, a knock came on the door. The bullshit R.A. cited me for having a hot plate in the dorms. I would have to face a student council committee to explain my actions.

Then I found it. My girlfriend had gone beyond just tearing down my Lindsey Graham posters. She had destroyed them. She had drawn a Swastika over the manly Senator’s face in blood, ruining both the collector’s value and the last shreds of my self-esteem.

When she came in we had a fight. She threw the kitchen sink at me, accusing me of gaslighting her and being late paying her Verizon bill. In front of the audience of our roommate Tess and her damned boyfriend, KweenTrashWytch✨✨ dressed me down entirely, spitting on my life’s work, slandering my toxically masculine co-worker Jeff, and threatening to hook up with my Millennial co-worker Marshall. Then she ordered me out.

As I trudged out of the NYU dorms, one tiny suitcase containing my life’s possessions rolling behind me, I received a text message. It was my ex-wife. She had gone to court to get my Thanksgiving custody of our son Colby revoked after she found out I had been living in student housing with a financial dominatrix from Tumblr.

I’m sorry, son.

I thought last night would be the worst of it, because that’s usually when I’m the most lonely. But the chair in the Plaza Hotel lobby lulled me to sleep. This morning I realized that dawn is the worst, because that’s when you realize you’re in for another cycle of this meaningless existence. Every story I broke, every winner and loser of the week I picked, every woman I’ve made love to — all of it, worthless worthless worthless. Everything I could be proud of is behind me, never to be repeated again.

I’m like a cornered animal, like a Polk Award-nominated rat cowering at the end of an alley.

So Happy Thanksgiving. There’s only one thing left for me to do.

Carl “The Dig” Diggler is off for Turkey Day weekend. His column returns Monday, Nov. 30. Got a burning question for the Dig that just can’t wait till then? E-mail him at carl@cafe.com or Tweet to @carl_diggler.

Advert