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March 20, 2017 | by  | in Shit Chat |
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Escaping the crushing weight of reality by imagining political death matches, and other Shit Chat

“Enough, with the femmo propaganda bullshit Sash.” Ye okay; I intended to give y’all just the tip last week but I really did go balls deep into that one, sorry team. What can I say? I’m an avid SJW and I take pride in my work. Lighter topics! Politics! Have you ever extensively hypothesised over who would win in a fight to the death between Bernie Sanders and Hillary Rodham Clinton?

Don’t come at me with “but what’s the context, why are they fighting, what do they win” noise because there is no context okay, don’t be a killjoy, and just imagine with me for two damn minutes a world where Hilz and Bernie — for whatever reason — are trying desperately to kill each other with their bare hands.

The people I’ve run this by have pretty much exclusively backed Hilz. Cause my girl is fire. Look, realistically, she’s younger and fitter. I know you saw that picture of her walking in the woods instead of sinking into a Netflix-numbed depression after the election. Home girl is fighting fit; she’s in peak physical condition (for a 69 year old). In this theoretical alternate universe, just say Bernie could match her stamina. That’s cool, she’s patient as shit. You know she got into politics before Bill, and had to bust way more balls than Bill ever did to reach the same heights. She had to fight a Sisyphean battle for her voice to be heard while Bill — by virtue alone of being in the Boys’ Club — found his path unabridged by such a boulder. Nevertheless, she persisted. If you want to talk technique — did you not get the part where Hilz is married to Bill Fucking Clinton? Remember that time he was (is) a total skeez? Mom is no stranger to shutting a man down: she’ll Moonsault onto a bitch, stand up, and shimmy it off.* Most of all, you know she wants it. You know she wants it with every fibre of her being: Nothing Made Her Prouder Than To Be Our Champion, man, come on. She’s a finely-tuned, goal-orientated machine. She’s a good bet.

But here’s the thing.

You see Bernie crying at the DNC? Did you see him crying? I realise this might not seem like one to put in the strengths pile considering we’re talking about brutal hand-to-hand combat here but the man would be, I think, the poster boy for Mind Over Matter. (Incidentally, I also think that Bernie took mental notes when Trump got Stone Cold Stunned on WWE in 2007 and could unleash hell if someone in the crowd yelled “what about her emails, tho” at an opportune moment). I know you saw that photo of him being arrested at a Civil Rights protest way back when photos were automatically taken in Instagram’s Moon filter — Grandaddy Berns is a fighter. He’s Rocky Balboa; he’s John McClane. He’s every white male protagonist that you know is going to win because he’s the fucking white male protagonist. Bernie is Mel Gibson’s William Wallace — F R E E D O M — and honestly it kills me to say this (sorry Hilz baby, ily) but my money’s on Bernie. This guy is gonna get taken down for sure, but the ace up his sleeve is that he just won’t stop getting back up. I’m trying to find a better/nicer analogy but I just can’t and I’m so sorry — Bernie is King of the Cockroaches, leader of those who Refuse To Fucking Die. Bernie all the way baby.

If you can change my mind about this I’d love to hear it ’cause right now I feel like I’m cheating on a lover.

Love u, xoxo

* I’m not gonna pretend I know the names of wrestling moves okay, my flatmate knows the things, I just watch for the aggressively portrayed toxic masculinity.

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