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With quasi-excitement equal to that which I experienced while interviewing Mr. Donald Trump, I managed to land an interview with Democratic presidential hopeful, Mrs. Hillary Clinton. Take note – you may want to read the interview with Mr. Trump before reading this one. You may do so by clicking here. Other than that, please enjoy. (And thanks for the sample, Nathan.)
Hillary Clinton: No.
A: Um, okay. Sorry… Mrs. Clinton. I see you’ve already pretty much consumed the whole dram. That was the Glen Moray Port Cask Finish edition.
H: Oh yes, I did. It was just sitting there so I put it in my mouth. You know, you’d be amazed at the things I can get in there.
A: What size shoe do you wear? Heh-heh, just kidding with you…
H: No, seriously, I wear a size 8, and believe me, it will fit in my mouth. I put it in there all the time. In fact, I just did it a few weeks ago in Ohio. I announced in front of a miners’ union that because of my concerns with global warming, I was pushing to shut down their factories. Let me tell you, that was an uncomfortable minute or two.
A: I’ll bet it was. While I really don’t want to get into politics in this interview, you probably heard that the presumptive Republican presidential nominee was here a few days ago talking whisky with me. Well, we were sort of talking about whisky.
H: I did. In fact, one of my aides, who also happens to be one of his campaign lawyers, told me I should probably give you a call to get in on the action.
A: One of your personal aides works for Trump?
C: Oh, yeah. The whole Trump candidacy was my idea.
A: It was?
C: Oh, certainly. I’ve been working on this since I lost to Barack back in 2008. Well, actually even before that.
A: Really? I didn’t know that, although I’ve had the sense that the two of you aren’t all that different – like something was connecting both of you. You do seem to have a lot in common. In fact, for the most part, I’d say that most of the time you’re nearly indistinguishable… policy-wise, that is.
C: Yeah, I know, right? We’re a lot alike. That’s why I reached out to him and asked him to run.
A: You actually asked Donald to run?
C: Sure did. The first time I dropped it on him was at his third wedding in 2005. He invited Bill and me to sit right in the front row. Told us we were his most honored guests. He wasn’t interested then, but I asked him again after the primaries in 2008. He was all ears, or in his words, “I’m not really doing anything right now, so hey, why the hell not? And they’ll love my hair. I’ve got really great hair.”
A: Well, again, I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re a lot alike.
C: We sure are. For one, we’re both incredibly “forgetful.” He forgets he’s been a Democrat for about 99% of his natural life and I forget the contents of the intelligence briefings I receive while our embassies are being attacked. He likes to blame other folks for the fact that he can’t seem to keep his darker thoughts to himself, like the time he said that his daughter is so beautiful that if she weren’t his daughter he’d probably have sex with her. He later said he didn’t say that and then blamed it on the media. Anyway, it’s all good. I like to blame things on others, too. Again, those unfortunate embassy events, I blamed that whole thing on a YouTube video.
A: Well… um… I was thinking more along the official party platform lines. In other words, for example, not all that long ago Trump said in an interview with CNN that he believes that two of the most important obligations of the government to its citizens are to provide healthcare and education, and yet those are essential to the liberal platform, aren’t they?
C: Bam! That just happened. And the way he tried to describe it, well, it’s exactly what we’re already getting in Obamacare and Common Core standards.
A: But he said in a speech before that interview that he wants to get rid of both of them.
C: Contextual forgetfulness. It’s helped to get everyone I know elected. A fairly reliable tactic.
A: You know, most folks call that deceit.
C: Deceit. Forgetfulness. I think there’s room in America for everyone. If you want to choose to identify with “deceit,” then that’s your choice. I choose “forgetfulness.”
A: Which bathroom do you prefer?
C: Don’t let the pantsuit fool you, Chris. I’m all woman. I even have cards that I’m selling for a buck a piece which say just that. My campaign is calling it “playing the woman card.” Want one?
A: No thanks.
C: It was Trump’s idea, by the way. Great idea.
A: Well, let’s see how similar the two of you are when it comes to whisky, although I should preface by saying that my time with Donald was rather challenging. No, let me rephrase that… When it comes to interviews, I’m in the NeverTrump camp.
C: Hah! That’s great. Really great.
A: Don’t say that.
C: Don’t say what?
A: Don’t say “really great.” It makes me sweat.
C: I’ll say whatever I want. By the way, I’m counting on the “NeverTrump” crowd.
A: I’m sure you are.
C: So, anyway, which whisky are we trying tonight?
C: Oh yeah. I “forgot.” See! It works. You thought I really forgot, didn’t you?
A: Well, I…
C: “What difference does it make?!” See, that shook you a little when I shouted it, didn’t it? You forgot what you were about to say. Forgetfulness can be a powerful ally, my friend. Very powerful.
A: Let’s just get to the whisky.
C: “What difference does it make?!”
A: Please stop.
C: But that’s kind of my thing.
A: I know, but we’re getting far afield. Let’s get to the whisky. So, as I explained to Mr. Trump, typically I try to consider each whisky’s nose, palate, and finish. The nose is what you smell before you sip. What did you think of the nose?
C: I don’t remember.
A: That’s not funny anymore, Mrs. Clinton. Seriously, what did you smell?
C: Seriously, I don’t remember. I just kind of threw it in my mouth when I came in and didn’t really think about it. I saw it and then put it right in there. Didn’t know what it was.
(Pouring her another dram and giving her a chance to smell it…)
A: Okay, so, what do you think?
C: Well… I smell… heavy smoke, and maybe something… something like… warm metal.
A: I have no idea what you are referring to here, Mrs. Clinton. There is absolutely nothing smoky or metallic about this whisky. It’s a fairly clean dram, with a little bit of what I’d say is a honey and muscovado mix. And perhaps some sun-warmed purple raspberries. Are you sure you smell smoke?
A: That’s probably just your approval ratings. I smell them, too.
C: And the metal?
A: Hard drives. I used to work with computers quite a bit. A server room full of hard drives being reformatted in order to delete massive amounts of emails can have kind of a warm, metallic smell.
C: Yeah, that’s probably it. I think you’re right about that one. I was just doing that again last night. The residue is probably still in my nose.
A: Figures. Go ahead and take a sip. What do you taste?
C: Let’s see… I’m sensing… leather… and maybe something salty, like sweat… or maybe tears.
A: Again, Mrs. Clinton, this whisky is relatively clean. You shouldn’t be getting anything like that from this whisky. It’s very sweet, in my opinion, giving off good bit of sugar – like I’ve just taken a bite of a Twinkie, except this one has been dipped in jam.
C: I did not get any of that. (Taking another sip…) Yeah, definitely leather and sweat. And tears.
A: You know, I’ve always believed there’s sort of a psychological element to each whisky, that the contours will stir memories of events, people, places. Let me ask you, did you drink a lot while Bill was president?
C: A lot. I drank A LOT!
A: Did you cry a lot, too?
C: Not a lot, but sometimes.
A: I know I’m not a psychologist, Mrs. Clinton, but it could be a combination of things. I wonder if the leather and sweat is merely a recalling of the cheap booze you used to drink while Bill was taking interns into that little room beside the Oval Office. Maybe you always wanted to go in there with him, but he would never let you, and so you cried. Leather, sweat, and tears. Could be a repressed memory, or something like that. You think?
C: Doubtful. I kept the leather in my closet. And while Bill is more of the crier than me, when I did cry, it was usually only because I believed I should be the President and not Bill.
A: Are you sure that’s why you cried? You can tell me.
C: Yes. Pretty sure. Maybe. I “forget.”
A: Still, I think…
C: You know, I blame the NRA. If it weren’t for guns…
A: How about we just move on. What did you think of the finish? Was it short, medium, or long? And what flavors did you sense?
C: I’d say, unequivocally, that it was short. Definitely short.
A: About as short as your actual executive experience?
C: Maybe a little lengthier than that. But a lot more than Barack’s, that’s for sure.
A: We’re on the same page, here, then. I thought it was definitely a shorter finish. Did you sense anything in particular flavor-wise?
A: Nothing at all?
C: “What difference does it make?!”
C: I’m serious. What difference does it make? I didn’t taste anything else.
A: I sensed the fruit from the nose as well as what seemed like clove spice.
C: Did you say “Old Spice”?
A: No, I said clove spice.
C: Oh, I thought you said “Old Spice.” I wear that.
A: Isn’t that for men?
C: Yep, but the FBI agents who keep stopping by to investigate me all seem to wear it. I figure it can only help.
A: I think we’re done here.
C: Aren’t we going to try some whisky? I thought that’s why you invited me.
A: America is doomed.
C: By the way, Donald told me he knows for a fact that you put cherries in your nose. Is that true? You know, I’ve done that, and I encouraged Donald to go ahead and try it.