Video transcript
She can say one sentence six different ways and still say nothing. She's unburdened by what has been, mostly because she never explained what it was in the first place. She laughs before she answers a question, and sometimes that's the whole answer. She starts by saying, "Let me be clear," and then isn't, and somehow circles back to, "Let me be clear." She says moving forward so often, her podium is on wheels. She talks about the significance of the passage of time, so long you actually feel it passing. She wants to find time by saying it's the thing that passes over time. Her teleprompter doesn't scroll, it just loops the same line until everyone forgets the question. She once gave a speech about the importance of speeches. She once said holistically, so many times in one speech, the audience reached enlightenment. Her laugh comes out at the exact moment everyone else stops laughing. She preaches that, "It's time for us to do what we have been doing, and that time is every day." She once explained water for 12 minutes straight. She once explained school buses to a room full of bus drivers, and the only thing they understood is that they are big and yellow. She leaves people more confused than before she started talking. Her speeches are so repetitive. After she's done with a campaign, every parrot in town can recite them. She can redefine a word six times before anyone realizes she never defined it. She only answers pre-scripted questions, and if someone dares to ask a real question, she starts laughing until someone comes and saves her. Her press conferences end with reporters forgetting what they even asked. She once explained democracy as "the thing we do when we do democracy." When she runs out of things to say, she'll talk about how she just fell out of a coconut tree. She laughs the hardest right after saying the least. She is the most word salad woman in the world.
Transcribed automatically. Expect errors in names and numbers.