How to Survive a Female Presidency

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Hillary Clinton is probably going to be president. Most polling data shows her with a small but verifiable lead over Making America Great Again.

Americans are concerned about the effect this could have on our great nation. Possible corruption and moneyed interest aside, Clinton does not have that certain something we have come to expect in our leaders. A certain tall, muscular, stately presence with possible five o’clock shadow and an ever-receding hairline.

With a female president comes a set of concerns that America has yet to face.

Stock up on your Woman Cards because bad news: men are headed for second-class citizen status the second the Crimson Wave hits the Oval Office.

A supporter of the Lily Ledbetter act, Clinton aims to pulverize the hard word that men have been doing for decades by taking their paychecks and peeing all over them. Her advocacy for closing the gender pay gap is seen as a direct assault on the masculine work ethic. What next, breast feeding couches in executive offices and tampons on the desks of the male receptionists?

Men: start wearing makeup and heels. Perhaps appealing to the liberal love of gender ambiguity will guilt Clinton’s hoard of harpies into paying you what your phallus knows you deserve.

Anyone who has spent time with a woman voicing opinions knows that there is no way for those opinions to manifest except in the shrill tones of a power-hungry shrew. It’s not just that she might possibly be and probably totally is Lucifer in a pantsuit, but damn it all to hell if she isn’t also impossible to understand through all that feminine shrieking about abortion and equal pay.

When not stumping the Donald’s earholes with her dulcet tones, Clinton is alarming us all with her need to cackle and giggle at things that are funny. Some would refer to this simply as laughing but some would be wrong.

Good ol’ Patrick Healy at The New York Times was doing the Lord’s work in Clinton’s 2007 campaign by psychoanalyzing every instance of such witchery, lest we get distracted by listening to her policy proposals and relevant experience. Thanks, Pat!

“She giggled, giggled some more, and then couldn’t seem to stop giggling–‘Sorry Bob,’ she said,–and finally unleashed the Cackle,” wrote Healy.

In the present campaign, there’s really not much we can do to prepare for this except to turn the volume down whenever we see her speak. If we miss the substance of what she says as well then all the better, since she’s probably using Satanic code to entrap us all. Shout out to Ben Carson for putting us on the alert.

Related: a female president brings another set of appearance issues. As the porcine, human lump of dough Rush Limbaugh pointed out in 2007, “will this country want to actually watch a woman get older before their eyes on a daily basis?”

We are faced with a daily barrage of boner-killing, childhood-innocence-squandering, hope-for-the-future-eliminating images of a woman nearing extinction in her late 60s (also known as the time male politicians are more revered for their aged wisdom). President Obama’s time in office certainly aged him significantly and conspicuously but how can we look to our Madame President for guidance when all we can see is a crooked-nosed witch with a gingerbread house full of state secrets to feed to the highest bidder?

Carve out 20 minutes of each day to systematically save images of Clinton to your phone and auto-glamor them. Give her some digital eye lifts. Slap on some Photoshop bronzer. Put off seeing her wizened face for as long as possible.

Another option is we start a nation-wide kickstarter to buy her monthly chemical peels for the duration of her stay in office. If her face burns off then we’ll at least be spared the psychological damage of seeing a grown-ass woman looking grown-ass.

There is a bright side. On the slight chance that she is not, in fact, the Devil’s right hand as the RNC would have you believe, she might be able to bring her natural feminine wiles to bear on international affairs. Our bestie
Patrick Healy was again looking out for us in 2007 by pointing out that she was too rarely mentioning “the possibilities of adding a woman’s touch to national security.”

This tried and true conceit of gender politics may be our saving grace with a female president.

It’s long been understood that with vaginas comes a certain soothing air–an aromatic waft of maternal instinct. Clinton will no doubt use this natural tendency towards peacemaking to lure ISIS in with baked goods (homemade, of course, because hashtag professional). It’s certainly not going to be her years of experience dealing with turbulent international waters that gets the job done.

The chief concern, of course, will be that in the midst of her ladylike efforts toward international tranquility, the Red Menace will morph the VP (that’s Vagina President) into a fire-breathing, emotionally volatile creature hell-bent on the destruction of everybody in her path. It’s not her fault; it’s how God made all of the Fairer Sex.

To prepare for this inevitability, Americans will need to place one or two secret service members as undercover lookouts for signs of Red River Blues. It can present itself in two ways: the first is confusion and hormonal hysteria, while the second symptom is outright violent rage seemingly appearing from nowhere. Here’s to hoping the Secret Service does better than they’ve done with our current president.

Otherwise, we can give her Barbies to play with in the Situation Room.

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