"It's nothing personal, it's politics," Hillary replied coldly as the 4 year old begged uncontrollably for her to stop.
As the wood chipper ground the turtle into fine bits of shell and bone, the child wept. As the final pieces of sinew tumbled out of the machine, Hillary knelt and carefully scooped a handful of bloody viscera and bone, slowly allowing it to sift in between her witch-like fingers.
"Today it's your child's pet. Tomorrow it's your child. You know who to vote for if you want that to change."
Then, almost ritualistically she lifted a cigarette to her crusted lips. She cradled a match in her bony, pappilomatus hands, then swiftly struck it against the nearly bald head of a sleeping newborn. She lit the cigarette quickly, then blew a ring of smoke into the mother's face. Then she descended to the underworld from whence she came.
Ah, keep em coming ---
"I think that man will be president right about the time when spaceships come down filled with dinosaurs in red capes" - Tom Hanks