On a bluff overlooking Arkansas’ White River sits the newly-constructed Hillary Rodham Presidential Library. A masterpiece of modern architecture, the edifice pays tribute to the life and public service of Ms. Rodham, America’s first female president.
“This gallery,” explained the docent, “recognizes Hillary’s success as a painter. Bet many of you didn’t realize she was a talented artist, huh?”
With puzzlement the tour group gaped at empty walls. “But there’s nothing here,” ventured one tourist from Schenectady.
Through a waxen grin the guide explained: “Ms. Rodham is a very private citizen. While proud of her accomplishments, she chooses not to flaunt them. This way–”
The group scuttled through a door until confronted by the number “2” dominating one high wall of another empty room. “Two times the people of New York elected Hillary to the Senate,” droned the docent. “That’s quite a record. This way–”
Tiny blue and white airplanes waited on a table centered in the next void. “Hillary travelled more air miles than any other Secretary of State. Another enviable achievement. These are exact replicas of the sort of plane Hillary rode to success. Only thirty dollars lets you celebrate her accomplishment by taking one of these home.” Visiting from Albuquerque, a busload of braless feminists rushed the table en masse. The rest of the group escaped the pandemonium by slipping into the Presidential Gallery.
Footfalls again echoed off blank walls in an empty space. A leering portrait of Hillary was the sole decoration. “This display reminds us to each be proud we elected a woman to four years in the White House.”
“But there’s nothing here,” blurted an exasperated college student from Oshkosh. “Why can’t we see a record of what she did?”
“Young woman,” scolded the docent. “The record of Hillary’s unparalleled service may be studied at any time.”
The group murmured its pleasure.
“But,” admitted the docent, “Ms. Rodham does have a simple rule: Her record may only be seen by people who don’t want to see her record. Have a nice day.”
The dismayed group staggered into the Arkansas sun, hoodwinked again by Hillary.
Watching A Wreck 