I can picture Gowdy sitting at a small desk in the middle of a dimly-lit room. Behind him are 12 military officers seated in modest chairs, emotionless with war medals gleaming (in what little light exists) on their uniforms.
Hillary is seated, by herself, about 10 feet in front of ]TG[.
Ever so slowly, ]TG[ lifts his eyes from his neatly stacked papers and drawls, "Mrs. Clinton. Do you realize I'm staring at a mountain of evidence against you, your piece of shit husband, your ugly son, Chelsea, and the Clinton Foundation so epic in both size and scope, that it makes your Benghazi crimes look like a pimple on the ball sack of an elephant?"
Yeah. I want Gowdy.