Gone she was, but here she is.
And NOW, the states can be polled again. And THIS time, we see and hear state after state universally affirming, by unanimous acclaim, amidst the wild roars in the room and the wondrous close-ups of male and female hysterical weeping, against subliminals of Libya being destroyed piece by piece, the nomination of the real candidate.
Gone she was, but here she is.
Primped, pumped, drugged, and smuggled into candidacy, once again.
The nation has been saved.
A moving walkway takes her through the massive throngs of wild worshipers. She clasps hands and touches cheeks and yes, a few menthol-induced tears sit firmly under her own eyes, glistening in the pin-spot lights like ice crystals.
She floats through the whole room and out the back and on to a lift that spoons her into a black SUV that pulls away from the curb. Off to a secret location to prep for her acceptance speech in prime time.
Back in the conventional hall, in her wake, two tons of confetti are falling on the delegates. Out of nowhere, a few thousand HILLARY signs are in their hands. Network cameras pan the room, then hold on a long shot. A voice says quietly, "We'll be back, after this."
Blackout.
Aces.
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