Dear Hillary,

I’ve happened to see two films in a row starring, and being about, those deplorables of yours.

The first one you can see it on Amazon Prime Video, name’s Mud (2012). It’s, in the director’s own words, as if Sam Peckinpah had directed a short story by Mark Twain.

[Twain, of course, is not read in American classrooms anymore. Right so.]

The other one is Marty (1955).

Main character in Mud is the son of a white trash man who reminds me of Loquillo when he sings that of

No vine aquí para hacer amigos
pero sabes que siempre puedes contar conmigo.
Dicen de mí que soy un tanto animal,
pero en el fondo soy un sentimental.
Mi familia no son gente normal;
de otra época y corte moral,
que resuelven sus problemas de forma natural
—¿para qué discutir si puedes pelear?

[Y vive Dios, que escrito está: si te doy mi palabra, no se romperá]

Marty, on the other hand, is not only a butcher but a Catholic, who has nothing better to do on his weekends than search for a woman to marry to. He even tries to force a kiss on her. And he shows no sign of any intersectional conscience altogether.

And is not silly Marty a lot like Horace, as they sing in the song?

Late again today,
he’d be in trouble;
though he’d say he was sorry,
he’d have to hurry out to the bus

Horace was so sad,
he’d never had a girl
that he could care for;
and if he was late once more,
he’d be out.


Don’t be afraid,
just knock on the door.
Well he just stood there mumblin’ and fumblin’,
then a voice from above said:

Horace Wimp, this is your life,
go out and find yourself a wife.
Make a stand and be a man,
and you will have a great life plan

Horace met a girl, she was small
and she was veeeery pretty,
he thought he was in love;
he was afraid, oh oh

Asks her for a date,
the café down the street tomorrow evening.
His head was reeling when she said:
Yes, OK

Horace, this is it.
He asks the girl if maybe they could marry.
When she says:
Horace cries

Everybody’s at the church,
when Horace rushes in and says:
Now here comes my wife,
for the rest of my life.
And she did

Now go and cancel that.

1 thought on “Dear Hillary,”

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