HERE IT IS: Hillary’s Diary Entry About the Benghazi Select Committee Hearing
[Twenty years after Hillary Clinton’s performance before the Benghazi Select Committee, Judicial Watch has finally been able to obtain the document found by a hotel maid in Washington, DC the next day, balled up in a wastebasket.]
UNREDACTED:
Dear Diary:
I had such a long day today! I had to go to the boring old Benghazi Committee and that bullet-headed meanie Trey Gowdy glowered at me and acted all pretend-polite, but you just knew what he was thinking, “I’m SO jealous of you, being so popular and beautiful, and having all this personality—all I have is the tenacity of a bulldog and a cheering section of partisan nutbags!”
But it was okay, Diary, because all my friends were there—Elijah Cummings was fanTAStic! He remembered all the questions I told him to ask me, and he teed up all my speeches just the way I wanted. And all the other Democrats on the Committee—I forget their names, I never remember names, that’s why I have staff to help me remember them when I need to. And I don’t need to for you, do I, Diary? Anyway, they all smiled at me and thanked me, and made sure not to ask me any embarrassing questions. I loved it when they would say “I don’t even want to be on this committee!” and repeat my talking points just the way I taught them.
Oh, Diary, there were some dicey moments, though. At one point I started choking on one of my own lies, but I got some water and it got better. And that Tammy Whatsername–the Veteran–kept asking me questions about—I don’t know, something about security, or budgets, or something. All I remember right now is that it wasn’t just a speech about how stupid the Committee is, or a complaint about the time. I had to think for a minute about something, but then someone passed me a note, so I made another speech.
It was kind of embarrassing being asked questions about my PRIVATE emails with You Know Who, Diary, but nobody got close to finding out my secret. Well, actually, Scowling Trey came close once, but then my man Eli jumped in and started fighting him, which was fun to watch—although for a minute I though Eli was going to have a stroke! And that jealous Schiff guy tried to horn in on that and act like he was protecting me, too.
And then we went to break. Crisis averted.
Kind of later in the evening, one of the women on the Committee—one of the Democrats, I’m pretty sure—started shrieking “Regular order, Mister Chairman!” which seems to be some kind of Congress phrase meaning “It sure is late, when can I get out of here?” And it was, Diary. It really was. I was there for HOURS—almost as long as those four guys we were supposed to be talking about waited for help that time, oh, like, more than two years ago! I thought wow, I really know what it’s like to be tortured now!
Diary, don’t tell anyone, but I kind of liked it. I mean, everyone was looking at me, and it was clear that I was beating the Committee like a rug, especially when I made one of those teary speeches where I pretended to want to cry. I’m telling you, Diary, I was amazing. I should get an Oscar or something. Or a medal.
Maybe just the presidency. I shouldn’t get greedy.
Well, Diary, I should wind down now. I’m just still so buzzed from all that pro-Hillary energy in the room! All my best friends were there—Cheryl Mills and David Kendall…I did miss You Know Who, but he couldn’t really be there, could he? He just can’t sit still and behave. That’s why he sent me those thousands of emails, making suggestions, asking questions, telling me secrets…
It’s really too bad he didn’t know what he was talking about.
Maybe my favorite part was when Eli—or, as I had to keep calling him, with all the seriousness in the world, “Congressman Cummings”—asked me if I wanted to say something else, and I did that whole production number I memorized where I recount the long, dramatic story of how Chris Stevens died, and talk about the fire and how we didn’t know where he was all that time, and I almost, not-quite cry.
I get goosebumps just thinking about me giving that speech.
Almost as much as when I think about my inauguration. It’s going to be SO special, Diary! It’s going to be everything I’ve ever dreamed of.
I’ll wear a beautiful white formal pantsuit, like a bride for the entire nation. I’ll raise my hand and swear or affirm that I will…blah blah blah, whatever it says in the Constitution. Remind me to look that up.
I can just see myself looking out into that adoring, cheering crowd, nodding graciously at my subjects, plotting my revenge on my enemies….smiling into the eyes of my One True Love, and knowing all my dreams have come true…..
Sorry, I sort of nodded off there. It’s late. So, I’ll just close this chapter on my never-ending story of peril and escape. Another narrow brush with the law!
Good night, Diary.
Yours forever,
Mrs. Hillary Rodham Clinton (Blumenthal? Sigh.), Future Queen of America
Image: http://themoderatevoice.com/199035/hillary-clinton-was-born-in-kenya/