As blogger/Village Voice columnist Roy Edroso has noted, the National Review is rarely funny.
But with Hillary Clinton suddenly back in the media every day after her failed campaign, serving up a cornucopia of self-justification, we'll have to take our laughs where we can find them:
Hillary Rodham Clinton isn’t merely in a state of denial. She has become Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense. Politically speaking, she is dead, but she doesn’t know it. Her staffers are so many Haley Joel Osments — too kind (and too attached to their salaries) to tell her that her career is over. She doesn’t need briefings. She doesn’t need to do interviews. She doesn’t need to write the book she is writing (after so many indigestible volumes, why bother with one more?). She doesn’t need to stake out a politically nuanced position on James Comey’s firing or scramble to get out in front of the Resistance parade. She lost two exceedingly winnable presidential campaigns in Hindenburgian fashion. There is no demand for her to run again and there is nothing left for her except to receive whatever ceremonial honors and sinecures may come her way. She has been handed her political retirement papers by the American people. She’s done. (Kyle Smith)
If only. She's not Bruce Willis but Michael Myers in Halloween, endlessly resurrecting no matter how many times Jamie Lee Curtis stabs him.