The election, as written by John Hughes

It's your classic high school love triangle:

On one side, there is the cool, hip class president. He's on his way to Harvard on a full scholarship, which he won by designing a system to remove the carbon footprint of homeless people. Sure, he's got some baggage - his dad, for example, is CRAZY. And not evil crazy, like Judd Nelson's dad in Breakfast Club. Real, supercool movie crazy, the kind that can't actually be real, but somehow is.

On the other there's the nerdy romantic, who's spent three years with her nose in a book, or hidden behind her brash, slutty best friend (this only works if you pretend Hillary is a lesbian. I would say keep the jokes to yourself, but why am I the only one allowed to be funny?). She's worked really hard. She's always pined for the Prom Queen, and this is her chance. They've been in every class for her, and every time the Prom Queen has gotten drunk and gone down on the lacrosse team, her faithful bookish friend has always been there to take her to the emergency room to get her stomach pumped.

Finally there is the Prom Queen herself, who looked pristine and virginal when she started high school, but is already a little worn out. She's still hot, and her legs go all the way up, if you know what I mean (to her hips, which are connected to her back, if you don't know your anatomy), but that "new car" smell has faded. But somewhere deep, deep inside is a heart of gold, just looking for the right match to bring it out, and drive her to win Prom Queen one more time.

We've all seen this movie. As adorable as her effort is, the nerd is not going to win. The cool kid sees the error of his arrogant ways, and does right by the Prom Queen by paying for her abortion and dancing the tango with her while Fallout Boy rocks the first dance. The nerd gracefully steps aside; after all, it was her sage advice, given offhandedly in a seemingly random moment, that showed the cool kid the right path. And as beautiful as the Prom Queen is, she's just not as attractive as the understanding witty friend, who's got a better record collection and also doesn't have the free clinic on speed dial. (I don't know who that would be in this allegory. Canada? Cuba, post-Castro? Let's call it Costa Rica, because why not.)

What's different here is that Hillary, even though she, too, has seen the movie, still thinks she's got a shot. Maybe someone should send her a copy of Sixteen Candles, or Pretty in Pink, or whichever one has Duckie. Molly Ringwald as America? I buy that. Especially since I always thought Ally Sheedy was hotter. Hell, I thought Judd Nelson was prettier. Wait, what were we talking about?