“Retail stores are not doing a very good job of parenting,” booms a self-righteous Senator Clinton as she dismounts her 25 foot tall robotic Clydesdale. “I mean, we entrust the raising of our children to these institutions and all they seem to care about is money,” she finishes, while wiping the dust and dung from her boots and giving it a taste. She is of course referring to the recent scandal in which pseudo sexual relations can be unlocked in the PC version of Grand Theft Auto San Andreas.

Senator Clinton retires to the comfort of her magical, flying log cabin. A glass of Sutter Home in her right hand, a thick Icelandic cigar clenched between her tobacco stained teeth. Barely wearing a revealing red teddy at all, she sprawls herself in front of the fire. Her legs are open, wide open. She has no sign of shame on her crudely painted face, and no sign of attempts to cover her shame either (droopy curtains).

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