I would love a hanger with der Hildebeast’s empty suit next to the podium. Have her pants go up in flames to the tune:
Liar, Liar, Pants on fire
Your nose is longer than a telephone wire
Ask me diva what I’ve said.
You’ve been out all night, know you’ve been bad.
Don’t tell me different, know it’s a lie . . .
Soak the pantsuit in bourbon so it burns better. Something cheap, like a pint of Ten High. Not worth wasting good stuff.