Now, Taxes Texas is a major player on the presidential election scene. Today, Texans have a chance to sink the awful, scheming, ueber- connected Hillary and disinfect American against the odious Billary virus (corruptococcus malignus) that has afflicted America since 1992.

By praying at the Shrine of the Virgin de Chicago or by putting on lip balm and kissing the Arizona A**hole, voters can pick a wrong to make a preliminary right. From a political standpoint, that’s astute, right now and right here, in Texas, the greatest Republic God ever bestowed on America.

Today should be the end of Hillary-Billary-Bill, and that’s a good thing.

To pre-celebrate the outcome, we present three selections from our archives. Cover your eyes and clicky on each pic for vomit-inducing goodness.

First up, our would-be notorious Hillary World-Class Genius poster post. This was taken from a quote during Bill’s gin days on the campaign trail, before his handlers watered down his drinks and stopped inviting women to his after-parties.

Next up, we have the clearly-obvious comparison between Her Mafianess and a real movie Mafia don.

Finally, to complete our Hillary Triptych, we present our piece de resistance, Deliverance Hillary. This work was lauded by Guy de Michiflorida Delegate du Superb as a “telling, consciousness-inspiring representation of the mindset of a lawsuit-threatening, desperate campaign apparatchik intent on suborning the will of the voting people, in the manner of Soviet Russia, or the Democrat Party. Or, how a Redneck makes his or her political enemy squeal like a pig while being abused.”

Meanwhile, at the the time of this writing, Customs and Border Protection helicopters are flying near the homestead, low and fast up and down the Rio Grande Valley. They flit back and forth, like giant dragonflies. Must be a drug movement, to get that kind of attention. Politicians are campaigning in Austin and San Antonio, pondering the larger picture, and here, on the border, people are looking up at the helicopters and looking into the darkness across the border, and wondering when the drug loads will come and when the gunfire will spit rounds into their back yards. And they stand in their back yards drinking Tecate beer and they take the locks off their rifles and wonder who will burn rubber through the neighborhood tonight — the runners or the law?