Imagine being Bill in that address and having to be all like “damn, Hillary Clinton, you fuckin’ fine, all sexy with your wrinkled glove of a body and horrific hangdog hag face. I would
totally have sex with you, both my charismatic persona, and the real me.” when all he really wants to do is fuck another 12 year old on Epstein’s sex slave island. Like seriously imagine having to be Bill and not only sit in that chair while Hillary flaunts her disgusting body in front of the crowd, the favorable lighting barely concealing her liverspots and flabby folds, and just sit there, speech after speech, rally after rally, while she perfects her lying. Not only having to tolerate her feeble fucking visage but her haughty attitude as everyone on the campaign trail tells her she’s STILL GOT IT and DAMN, HILLARY CLINTON LOOKS LIKE *THAT*?? because they’re not the ones who have to sit there and watch her decrepit-dyke fucking Baba Yaga face contort into types of grimaces you didn’t even know existed before that day. You’ve been fucking nothing but a healthy diet of tight Lupe Fuentes lookalikes and skinny eleven year old Russian underwear models for your ENTIRE CAREER coming straight out of the diamond fields in Arkansas. You’ve never even seen anything this fucking disgusting before, and now you swear you can taste the sweat that’s breaking out on her grey saggy stomach as she sucks it in to writhe it suggestively at you, smugly assured that you are enjoying the opportunity to get paid to sit there and revel in her “presidential (for that is what she calls herself)” beauty, the beauty she worked so hard for with media trainers in the previous years. And then the crowd calls for another speech, and you know you could seduce every single person in this hall before the campaign security could put you down, but you sit there and endure, because you’re fucking Bill. You’re not going to lose your future access to Candydoll girls over this. Just bear it. Hide your face and bear it.