From HuffPo (and let that be your warning to swallow your coffe before clicking), we have yet another woeful tale of Hillary Lost Disorder.
How I Ended Up In A Psych Ward On Election Night
A while before, during the final hour of November 8, I had committed myself to institutional psychiatric care. A generation or two ago they would have said I was suffering a nervous breakdown: catatonic, plagued by involuntary jerking motions (my head furiously shaking “No! ”), speech patterns disjointed, weeping uncontrollably.
No; a generation ago, we would have said you’re an overly indulged pussy, never taught by responsible parents to deal with set backs. Hell, most of the country is saying that now;. Pussy. Catatonia? Bull -effin’-shit, Benny. Catatonics don’t — can’t — commit themselves.
But we can fix this. We can save these perpetual children from life’s hard knocks.
Yep, we need to take up a collection and buy Hillary a participation trophy, and all will be well with those who never learned about losing.