My name is Hillary Clinton, and I'm verklempt

Did you ever go on a date with one of those guys who thinks that if one splash of cologne is sexy, eight will be positively irresistible? After you've crawled, gasping, onto the street and the blue tone has faded from your lips and fingernails, you kind of want to go back and explain to him, gently, that many things in this world are really best in moderation. Not enough to actually swim back into that overpowering miasma of Polo, mind you. But as you walk home, you are sort of wrapped in a wistful longing that someone would set him straight.

I'm getting that feeling about Hillary. Cry once, you're human. Cry all the time, and it's a schtick. A schtick, moreover, that suggests you're a cynical, manipulative woman who uses tears to get what you want.