Hillary’s Biggest Fanboy: How I Ended Up In A Psych Ward On Election Night

December 2, 2016 Hunter Wallace Humor, Politics, Progressives, SJWs 15

No matter what happens in the years ahead we will always treasure this magical moment on the evening of November 8th:

“I found out Donald Trump had won the Electoral College while midstream in providing a urine sample for the emergency psychiatric staff of a New York City public hospital. The unlockable bathroom door in this unescapable wing was ajar, and I could hear the victorious Mike Pence’s sinister Sunday-school baritone taunting me with the truth from the hallway television. …

My fundraising scored me the hottest ticket in town: entrance to the VIP wing of the would-be election Victory Party at the Javits Center in Manhattan. (It has a glass ceiling!) I bounded into the space at 6 o’clock in a frolic of an outfit: a red belt, white skinny jeans, and a blue Hillary-as-Rosie-the-Riveter T-shirt, my hair lavishly coiffed into a confident pompadour.

At first the sprawling party was a lark. I hobnobbed and table hopped. I couldn’t wait for a catharsis 25 years in the making. My only concern was the inevitable hangover. …

Sean and I were among the first to leave the Javits Center — we fled, really — at about 10:30 that evening. I couldn’t bear to see the party devolve into a wake.

By around four o’clock the following morning, I was so lonesome in my emergency psych wing cot, I got up to see if the man sitting over by the dreaded television would talk to me. He spoke of his attempt to hang himself and of his struggles with heroin addiction, with trying to make it as an artist, with paying his ever-increasing rent. His bitter eyes were glazed from three sleepless nights, his hair greasy and matted from two showerless weeks.

A couple of hours later, they finally wheeled me up to the locked psych ward. As I wept in the hallway over the shock of landing in this prison of my own making, a baby-faced patient with thinning hair and a crooked nose gently reassured me. After I asked him why he was in the ward, he said he’d been hearing voices …”

It was an amazing night.

The jokes! The lulz! The exploding heads! The tears! The memes! It was an unforgettable year capped by the crushing of the urbanite.

About Hunter Wallace 12390 Articles
Founder and Editor-in-Chief of Occidental Dissent

15 Comments

  1. These morons really believe the world is coming to an end. Maybe it is but not for the reasons they think.

    • I know people on the ground. It’s horrific. It is HELL. It’s a Holocaust. It’s ARSON. I’m going to try to set up local help. I’m may states away, but I’m calling my State Reps, etc. I will be sending money and any other goods I can.

  3. lol, I read this earlier, very funny stuff. The comments on HuffnPuff Post are hilarious, almost all trying to turn this event into some kind of “teaching moment”.
    #nottiredofwinning

  5. And for decades conservative intellectuals tried to hold discussions with these types. Now you see why we troll.

    Suffice to say that this half wit’s waking dreams are haunted by “isms”, “ists” and phobias.

  8. I don’t usually give HuffPo any clicks, I always come away from that Marxist site feeling the need to shower off, like I’ve been in a room full of deviants, but the comments alone were worth the visit…

    • Get em jobs in a steel mill or in the oilfields. Or make em haul hay down in the Red River bottoms in the Texoma summer. Any real job. It’ll do em in for sure.

  10. I bounded into the space at 6 o’clock in a frolic of an outfit: a red belt, white skinny jeans, and a blue Hillary-as-Rosie-the-Riveter T-shirt, my hair lavishly coiffed into a confident pompadour.

    What a fag. Sounds like a teenage girl from the 1980’s.

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