This piece by Kelley Calkins originally appeared on The Establishment, a new multimedia site funded and run by women.
A lot of people and publications are convinced that Hillary hasn’t, in proper debate parlance, “laid the smackdown” on Trump in the two previous “presidential” debates. But how exactly does one deliver a “knockout debate performance” against an egomaniacal, racist, lying, abusive, narcissistic, transphobic, alternate-universe-dwelling, sociopathic, misogynistic, white supremacist, literal self-described sexual predator bully who, instead of a soul, has a bright, burning ball of hatred and insecurity fueling his every move?
It’s a real head-scratcher! But ah, Hillary. If you’re looking for the path to victory, you’ve come to the right place. I respect the “when they go low, we go high” strategy, but perhaps the issue is that we haven’t gone quite high enough yet?
And so I present to you eight fail-proof strategies for finally—and classily—delivering that knockout punch tonight in the debate. Reach for the moon, Hillz! Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars (and by “stars,” I of course mean in Twitter’s top 5-10 trending topics for at least 11 hours).
Play Dead
As soon as the debate kicks off, lay down on the floor and hold very, very still—ideally not making any movements or sounds (NB: this will be harder if you’re breathing raspily due to pneumonia, so I hope you didn’t get “sick” again like some sort of human with an immune system or something). Hailing from the hinterlands of Vermont, I know this is a solid strategy for handling unexpected encounters with bears, and Trump’s behavior and general demeanor strikes me as being not too far off, if not indistinguishable, from that of a bloodthirsty, rabid grizzly who’s been shot multiple times in the face but has yet to die—so it could work! The key is to remain immobile until The Donald lumbers off the stage in search of more interesting prey—that’s when you pop up and shout “GOT YA, DONSTER!,” therein simultaneously also securing America’s vote.
Phone A Friend
I know women are supposed to #LeanIn and be fiercely independent and never show even the faintest hint of weakness—LITERALLY EVER—but desperate times call for desperate measures: You gotta use a lifeline. Specifically, you need to phone a friend. And by “friend,” I mean that humanoid creature Billy Bush. Hear me out: Melania just came out and admitted that all this “locker room” talk was 1000000% “egged on” by Bush—Trump was just in the wrong place at the wrong time! But if The Donald unwittingly submitted to Billy’s will once, he’s likely to fall victim to Billy’s high-level, Cicero-esque Jedi mind tricks again. So dial up ole Billy and tell him to tell Donald to give all his money to charities supporting immigration reform and then move to a small island in the Pacific (ideally where there’s either a Jurassic Park or Lost situation going on, although a Wilson-less Castawayscenario will also work in a pinch) so we never have to be subjected to his smug, stomach-churning, slimy ass ever again.
Catalyze the Apocalypse
I know, I know, you’re a woman running for president and when you take the oath in January, you’ll plunge not just America into a dystopian hellscape, but the entire world. I mean c’mon, a girlsitting in the Oval Office!? There couldn’t be a bigger apocalyptic scenario if Jonathan Franzen were to attempt to write about women like they’re humans. So I do get that you’re trying. But if you want to win this debate, you’re gonna have to speed things up a bit. Up to you how you want to do it—global locust plague? Making “fetch” happen? Giant asteroid hitting the planet (possibly still too overdone after Deep Impact and Armageddoncoming out within three months of each other)? But if you can send thousands of emails from a personal server, you must at least know enough evil, winged monkeys to plunge the known world into a Mad Max-like anti-utopia. Don’t be coy—bring about the end of days!
Recite John Podesta’s Wikileaked (Former) Secret to Creamy Risotto
Not even the mouth-breathing, hate-mongering gooberbeasts at Fox News or even Breitbart will deny you a debate victory if you share this gem of a culinary masterpiece. (NB: It would be rude not to follow up with a thank you note to Julian Assange after you’re declared the victor.) Bon appetite, America!
Stop, Drop, and Roll
As a kindergarten graduate, I know that this is the go-to safety method in the event of a fire. And while Trump may or may not actually be fire in the physical sense (although jury’s still out on that one!), his blind hatred of women and people of color certainly burns something combustible. Plus he’s an orange hue, so I really think this strategy is worth a shot!
Build a Wall
This could be somewhat tricky for a couple reasons. First: materials. It was clear to the nation that if even Ken Bone couldn’t sneak his phone into the last debate—forcing him to rely on a disposable camera like an anachronistic peasant—you may be limited as to what you can bring to the stage with you. HOWEVER, even Donald Trump knows that women regularly bleed out of their “wherevers” (I think the wherever is close to the spleen? I’m not sure though because you know, that whole “women can’t do science” thing) and so you if just start screaming “Oh god, there’s blood coming out of my wherever!” in the green room pre-debate, you should be able to bring your purse full of gross girl products on stage with you—and voila! Super Tampax and gum—it’ll be a wall that rivals even a Trump hotel.
But then we encounter problem #2: building a wall when Donald is committed to pacing the stage and stalking you like a villain from a Lifetime movie. Maybe tell him that if he holds very still, his daughter Ivanka would agree to finally going on a date with him, per his stated desires? Then, real quicklike while he’s holding still, BUILD A GODDAMN TAMPON FORTRESS AROUND HIM AND HIS DISGUSTING MONSTROSITY—thus sparing not just Ivanka, but America writ large from his heinousness. And feel free to leave the wall up for . . . forever. Mexico might reimburse you for the $8 in building material costs.
Summon Your Friend Satan
Look, this is kinda awkward because I’m a supposed feminist and thus supposed to have fellow lady-folks’ backs and stuff, but like, let’s face facts: You’re a straight-up hell-creature. It’s okay! You could be worse things (like Donald Trump or Billy Bush or a Donald Trump or Billy Bush supporter!). But at this point, the truth is unavoidable: Not only did Donald call you a devil in the last debate, but one of his prime followers and radio show host friends, determined that you not only “stink, stink, stink, stink” like evil, but are also a known demon. So now that the cat’s out of the bag, might as well call in a favor from the Big Guy Downstairs whom I’m sure, at a minimum, can dazzle the moderator and crowd with some cool fire tricks, thus securing your debate victory.
‘Smooth’ the Nation
Instead of responding to the moderator’s first question, promptly start playing the smash hit single “Smooth” by Santana featuring Rob Thomas from an iPod connected to your mic—on repeat. Whenever Donald tries to interrupt you, just turn it up. Whenever you’re asked another question, again, just turn that shit up. Smile and nod your head to the beat like you’re hearing the singing of angels because, forsooth, you are. Feel free to sing along or play air guitar at any point, but it may be most politically advantageous to look directly at the camera and lip sync either “Give me your heart, make it real, or let’s forget about it,” or “I would give my world to lift you up”—just so America knows where you stand.
By the 17th time the song plays, Donald will have given up and peaced or the moderator and/or TV station will have shut the debate down. Either way, the United States will be in agreement: “Let’s don’t forget about it*” on election day.
*It = Hillary Clinton
Other recent pieces include:
Related
Before You Go
