Let me know when Hillary and Huma get married and buy a pistol and cyanide.
Look on the bright side, Pantsuit. If you're not the nominee again this time, you can finally divorce Pants and marry the one you love. Surely it will give your reputation a bump amongst your base. Think how poignant she will look on the cover of the Rolling Stone with her right hand on the telephone and the left one pressed up, mirroring yours, separated only by the two-inch plexiglass between you.