A woman at a table with a laptop, a glass of wine. Her phone is next to the computer. Along with some sunglasses. There is an empty seat next to her. Her coat is over the back of her chair.

Hillary:

Is this thing- ready? On. Okay, I can edit that out. Um, “Good evening, my fellow Amer-” Shit. Okay, I can edit that too. Okay, Hill, relax. Breathe. (She takes a sip of wine)

“Hello.” Okay, this is ridiculous.

“Hi, you probably know who I am, but in case you’ve been living under a rock, my name is Hillary. My husband and I have made the difficult decision- heh, well, I’m sure you can imagine. So anyway, I’m single now, and for some reason beyond comprehension I allowed myself to get talked into making this video. I’m in my mid sixties. I grew up in Illinois. Married once, rather famously. I have one daughter, visiting now, but fully grown- empty nester. I travel a great deal for my job-”

LongJohn, get down from there. Get DOWN! No! Bad kitty.

(Sound: Internet cat saying: Long Johnson)

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Last time I play poker with Pelosi. Bitch. I swear to fucking God.

(Another sip of wine. She looks at a print out to see what she’s supposed to say next)

Okay. “Interests include politics… Um. Legal debate. Travel.” Jesus, this is stupid. “Turn on NPR, you can find out all about my interests.”

Long John, no! Mommy said no! Get away from him, Newt, you’re just as bad egging him on.

(Text message sound. She puts on glasses, looks at it and makes a disgusted face, takes off the glassses)

(Looks at paper again)

“I’m looking for a single man. No racial preference. Age: look, someone capable of keeping up with me, okay? In the unlikely occurrence of a relationship, fidelity would be non-negotiable. If you have a penchant for posting compromising shit on the internet, you need not apply. Embarrassing past that could get me subpoenaed? Please, don’t message me. Been there, done that. Non-smoker, no saxaphones-”

(Song begins playing in another room)

Chelsea Boo, turn that down! Thank you! And will you please tell your father to give the fuck up and stop sending me pictures? I googled, that is not what planking is.

“So, yeah, I’m looking for an easy going man. Casual and discreet. Someone who knows what the definition of “is” is. Preferably in the DC area.-”

Rush, you leave her alone. What’s in your mouth? What’s in your mouth?! Come here! Chelsea, Rush has been at the nip again, will you put it up on the fridge?

“I have a rather rough exterior but I love cats-” (starts to cry) I really love cats. I’m sorry. I- I just love them. I looooove them. When I think of their cute little faces. I just…(She is weeping)

(Sound: text message beep)

Sorry, that’s probably work.
(Hillary puts on sunglasses and checks her text message. She begins typing back- she speaks what she’s typing)

Text: That’s Madam Raging Bitch Secretary to you, Boehner. Talk to me when you can keep your orange face dry for fifteen minutes. Sack up, cowboy.

(Looks at sheet. Sip of wine)

“Not much of an outdoorsy type. Not adverse to it, unless you like hunting. No hunters. That’s a deal breaker. Raised Methodist, but not real into religious debate. Fundamentalists or extremists of any kind need not apply. Oh, that goes for bigots, homophobes, gingers, Teabaggers, journalists, misogynists, freaks, druggies, militants, rape apologists, closet cases, lobbyists, vegans, radicals, birthers, southpaws, republicans or any other lower life form. And no military. I got no beef with the men in uniform, it’s just a conflict of interest thingy. I can’t play hide the salami with someone whose deployment is greatly affected by my reports, feel me? Yeah. Okay. You know how to reach me. Thank you, and God Bless America.”

Okay. Upload.

(She sends video.

Sound: She gets a text message. Puts on her glasses.)

Text: Joe, you send me the Nyah cats one more time, and I swear to you, I will post the pictures from your last vacation to Vegas. Oops, was that my twitter feed? I swear on my soul. You and B, get back to work.

(Sound of incoming messages)

(She clicks a few)

That was fast.

Terrible.

Terrible.

Terrible.

RyanG69. Picture’s not bad. Cute.

(Reading) Hey Girl, my perfect Saturday is a hot cup of tea at sunrise, a trip to the Farmer’s Market, and curling up on the couch to figure out bell hooks’ theory that feminism is a struggle to eradicate the ideology of domination that permeates western culture with you.”

(Sound of another incoming message)

He’s persistent.

(Reading) Hey Girl, Anne Fausto-Sterling has a theory that five categorical sexes would help break constictive gender norms, but the only sex I need is you.

(She types.)

Hey, boy, your feminist references are almost as adorable as your abs. Naive and quaint, but adorable. But if you’re asking me for a hook up, here’s my number, let’s bump uglies. Yes?

(Hillary begins to put on a jacket. She downs the rest of her wine. Text message)

(Reading) Hey Girl, unlike Todd Akin, I believe only Yes means Yes. You down?

(Hillary puts on her glasses and sits down to text)

Yes. I’m going to to be all over you like Fox News on a Biden gaff. I got clearance for AF1, care to join the mile high?

(She starts putting on lipstick)

Chelsea? Mommy’s gonna be home late, emergency briefing. Middle East stuff. Top Secret. Can you feed the kitties? Don’t wait up, k?

(She turns to the empty chair next to her)

Computer’s all yours, Clint.

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