Hillary in India. A musical tribute to the fumbling ex-FLOTUS.

This is beginning to feel an awful lot like shooting fish in a barrel.  This woman is a hot mess.

First, there was this.

Descending a less than formidable flight of stairs tested Hillary Clinton’s simple physical agility.  In fact, “tested” is putting it mildly.

Challenged would be more appropriate.

Now, we learn, on the same Indian trip, she fell a second time, off camera.  Her off camera falls seem the most hilarious, perhaps for their apocryphal invisibility.

Hillary Clinton is physically degenerating before our eyes, a real time dissolution of the human frame.  It’s quite stark and magnetically attractive.  I can’t avert my horrified glance.  Mrs. Clinton is a raving train wreck.


Hillary Clinton will bring home a most undesired souvenir from India – a fractured wrist.

The former Secretary of State injured her right hand on Tuesday, after slipping in a bathtub at the palace where she was staying in Jodhpur.

Doctors were called to the Umaid Bhawan Palace and diagnosed the 70-year-old with a sprain, advising her to rest which forced her to cancel plans to visit the Mehrangarh Fort that evening.

But the pain only worsened, and by Wednesday morning she decided to get her hand checked out at Goyal Hospital.



This is the second time that Clinton has fallen on her tour of India.

While visiting the ancient city of Mandu in Madhya Pradesh, the former first lady and failed presidential candidate was filmed falling down the stairs Jahaz Mahal, of a 13th century harem.

It’s unclear whether that fall contributed to Clinton’s injury, as she did use her right hand to catch herself on the stairs.


I thought of an old country song that splendidly embodies the travails of She who Might have been President.












Estate of Harper Lee fights back against the revisionist (((Liberal))) malice that lives in the entertainment world.


In today’s Breath of Fresh Air news…

Think about it.

Aaron Sorkin, archetypal showbiz Jew, writing a stage adaptation of “To Kill A Mockingbird” in 2018.



Would you be surprised otherwise?  What did you expect?

The finished product, according to 21st Century liberal folklore and revisionism, will bear little resemblance to the original story.

The estate of Harper Lee has filed a lawsuit against the producers of a highly-anticipated Broadway adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird, arguing that the Aaron Sorkin’s script “departs from the spirit of the novel”.

The lawsuit, filed on Tuesday in Alabama by the late author’s lawyer Tonja Carter, alleges that Sorkin’s script has substantially altered Lee’s novel, despite a clause in the contract stipulating that “the play shall not derogate or depart in any manner from the spirit of the novel nor alter its characters”. The estate argues that Sorkin’s script alters several characters, including Atticus Finch – a lawyer who defends Tom Robinson, a black man unjustly accused of rape.

In typical left-wing social justice fashion, the Left tells us how we should interpret history, and further, how we should augment modern iterations of traditional artistic works into more racially palatable commentaries redolent of modern mores.  Rather than writing new crap, they kill the old crap.

And they tell us how to think. This is the sanctimonious, preachy ploy that the Left assault us with.

But the estate of Harper Lee is having none of it.


The lawsuit cites a Vulture interview with Sorkin at the 2017 Toronto film festival, in which the screenwriter said that “as far as Atticus and his virtue goes, this is a different take on Mockingbird than Harper Lee’s or Horton Foote’s [1962 adaptation starring Gregory Peck]”. Sorkin added that his version of the classic story of racism in the American south found Lee’s hero “becoming Atticus Finch by the end of the play”, and “in denial about his neighbours, and his friends and the world around him, that is as racist as it is … He becomes an apologist for these people”.

According to the lawsuit, the estate and Lee’s literary agent Andrew Nurnberg made repeated approaches to Hollywood producer Scott Rudin’s company, Rudinplay, letting them know that “for this classic, it is really important that any spin put on the characters, not least Atticus, does not contradict the author’s image of them”.


And the most revealing words defining the motivation of these ulterior social justice warriors disguised as “entertainment icons” is this quote from Scott Rudin himself.

Rudin told the New York Times: “I can’t and won’t present a play that feels like it was written in the year the book was written in terms of its racial politics. It wouldn’t be of interest … The world has changed since then.”



Yes, understood, Mr. Rudin, but your job is to preserve the thematic integrity of the story, not to overwrite its structure with the sappy post-racial consciousness that is proving to be an aesthete-killer in today “entertainment” world.


Hillary, still pouting, goes to India to whine, but instead has a spaz attack and puts her shoes in the loo.

Hillary hasn’t gotten over it.

Almost a year and a half later, she’s still pitching her embittered loser bullshit.  Her captive audience now:  India. Donald Trump beat her ass and now that collusion has been wiped from the legal table, she’s fumbling around India like a spiteful lunatic.

This woman could have been our President.



While visiting Jahaz Mahal in Dhar’s Mandu, Clinton was attempting to descend about 15 stairs.

She was holding the arm of an aide.

With Huma Abedin following behind, Clinton slipped about halfway down the descent, nearly tumbling down.

A man walking in front of her jumped to grab her as she reached for him.

Despite both men helping her get to the bottom of the stairs, she slipped again, nearly doing the splits.

Huma stopped to watch as Clinton attempted to regain her balance.

Hillary kicked off her sandals to get to the bottom of the stairs.


Hillary was not in India for her health or for sightseeing the mysteries of the ancient world.  Nope, she was pushing her aggrieved brand of revenge-politics (and trying to make an easy buck off the moron class).


Clinton was in the country promoting her book, “What Happened.” Yes, she’s still bitter about losing to President Trump.

NTK Network reports:

Hillary Clinton suggested that people who supported President Trump in 2016 did so because they “didn’t like black people getting rights,” or women getting jobs, during a discussion at the India Today Conclave on Sunday.

“If you look at the map of the United States, there’s all that red in the middle where Trump won. I win the coasts, I win Illinois, I win Minnesota, places like that,” Clinton said.

“What the map doesn’t show you is that I won the places that represent two-thirds of America’s gross domestic product,” Clinton explained. “So I won the places that are optimistic, diverse, dynamic, moving forward. And his whole campaign, ‘Make America Great Again,’ was looking backwards.”


It’s hard to take Hillary Clinton seriously when she seemingly lacks the physical prowess to descend 15 stairs sans a moment of breathless drama.

And what was with that whole kick-her-shoes-off spastic thing at the bottom immediately following her quasi splits? I guess she was taking out frustrations at her feeble state on those poor, defenseless, voiceless shoes!

That would be so Hillary. If those shoes could be suicided… the poor Indian boy had to spring to action and gather them up for her.

So White Colonialist of Hillary.






Freak Lives Matter. Hollywood’s virtue signaling is “never enough” and The Greatest Showman, sadly, is no exception.

If you are fond of stage musicals and musicals incarnated as theatrical motion pictures, I suspect you might enjoy The Greatest Showman.

If you are not fond of motion pictures politicking left-wing, social justice sanctimoniousness, I suspect you might not enjoy The Greatest Showman.



I fall somewhere in the middle.

My S/O, having heard favorable firsthand word of mouth from people similarly fond of musicals as she, has been clamoring to watch the Hugh Jackman flick for a couple of weeks. I’m not averse to musicals. I’ve seen many, and despite the tiresome faggy, liberal vibe that oozes from such a social arena, I’m able to suspend politics and ideology sufficiently to allow me to enjoy some productions.

Yesterday, I walked into the theater with very neutral expectations of this movie. I was curious how a musical would handle the story of P.T. Barnum, America’s 19th Century precursor to modern reality television and Jerry Springer-induced talk shows.

I was pleasantly surprised by the movie’s opening sequences.  The vocal performances were emotional and touching and lent a cohesive dramatization to the life of the the premiere “humbug” of early Americana. The narrative moved right along and the musical segments were interspersed delicately but efficiently with the scenes of spoken drama. I learned a little about Barnum but would hardly call this movie usefully historical. Entertaining, but informative?  Not quite.

The music was enjoyable and accessible.  In some cases, it was emotional; in the case of “Never Enough” by Jenny Lind, the “Swedish nightingale,” the music was downright cathartic. If ever a single scene warranted sitting through 2 hours of move time, Lind’s performance was that scene.   Performed behind actress Rebecca Ferguson’s skillful lip syncing by Loren Allred, the lilting song brings the production to a stunned halt.

Eyes tear, lips agape.  This is what music can do for our soul.



Alas, my movie review ends here.

Insert <screeching halt>.

I regret to inform you that The Greatest Showman disappointingly defaults to the standard dramatic structure required of all mainstream Hollywood productions today (that is, if they desire to be favorably “recognized” by critics and pop culture). Barnum’s band of “misfits” is composed of deviant (ie, diverse) characters of all shapes, sizes and colors, but before the viewers know what is happening, we are assaulted by obligatory script-embedded virtue signaling glorifying the diversity of Barnum’s freak show. The rights and equality of the “freaks” takes control of the movie’s dramatic narrative.

So long musical biography, hello Freak Lives Matter.

The movie paints Barnum as a magnanimous social messiah defending the rights of freaks;  after all, Barnum’s motivation was only about giving his acts a “voice,” not about money.  Right? 

And of course, the racial injustice agenda is injected into the movie as well when Barnum’s business partner, Phillip Carlyle (played by Zac Efron) falls for Anne Wheeler, a marginally black member of Barnum’s troupe, against the prototypical close-minded consternation of his 19th century parents.

The deafening virtue signals drown out the music as this movie winds down. What began as a nice cinematic experience, culminating in Lind’s stunning performance, devolves quickly as we are told that a small group of freaks should dictate the collective agenda and sensitivities of the entirety of society.  Wink, wink, get it?  This is Hollywood’s symbolic method of preaching and setting forth its SJW agenda;  implant it as subterfuge into movie scripts and hypnotize the gullible audiences with a DNC-approved message.

Indeed, Lind’s song spells out Hollywood filmmakers’ mission to imbue their product with a left-wing agenda:

Never Enough.


P.T. Barnum and his oppressed.

Is “blue-eyed devil” a racial slur? Nah.

Hate crimes are a curious thing. A hate crime is only a hate crime under certain politically useful expediencies.

“European” and “blue-eyed devil” are not slurs, nor to be construed as motivation in the course of an aggravated assault on a senior citizen.



I think we know which words constitute “hate” expression in today’s parlance…and which events warrant mention in the mainstream press.

But we can’t say them, for it’s hateful to do so.