The Hill

Apologies to Joel and Ethan Coen:

Audio here.

Way out east there was this lady, a lady I want to tell you about, a lady by the name of Hillary Clinton. At least, that was the handle her lovin’ husband gave her, but she never had much use for it herself. This Hillary Clinton, she called herself the Hill. Now, Hill, that’s a name no one would self-apply where I come from. But then, there was a lot about the Hill that didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. And a lot about where she lived, likewise. But then again, maybe that’s why I found the place s’durned innarestin’.

They call Washington DC The Capital Of The World. I didn’t find it to be that exactly, but I’ll allow as there are some nice folks there. ‘Course, I can’t say I seen London, and I never been to France, and I ain’t never seen no queen in her damn undies as the fella says. But I’ll tell you what, after seeing Washington DC and thisahere story I’m about to unfold–wal, I guess I seen somethin’ ever’ bit as stupefyin’ as ya’d see in any a those other places, and in English too, so I can die with a smile on my face without feelin’ like the good Lord gypped me.

Now this here story I’m about to unfold took place back in the early nineties–just about the time of our conflict with Sad’m and the Eye-rackies. I only mention it ’cause some- times there’s a woman–I won’t say a hee-ro, ’cause what’s a hee-ro?–but sometimes there’s a woman. And I’m talkin’ about the Hill here–sometimes there’s a woman who, wal, she’s the woman for her time’n place, she fits right in there–and that’s the Hill, in Washington, DC.

And even if she’s a lazy woman, and the Hill was most certainly that–quite possibly the laziest in Washington DC, which would place her high in the runnin’ for laziest worldwide–but sometimes there’s a woman. . . sometimes there’s a woman.

Wal, I lost m’train of thought here. But–aw hell, I done innerduced her enough.

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