Now that he is preaching from the back of pickup trucks, telling anyone who will listen that his wife is a victim of a cover-up, Bill Clinton seems to have settled on a new role: the crazy old uncle who’s off his meds. Sure, I thought dignified diplomat, emissary of peace and understanding with a mistress in every port, would be a nice gig for his second or third act. But ranting that Hillary is winning the general election and saying things like, “In case you haven’t noticed, most of the media aren’t for her,” puts him in another class entirely. One that wears tin foil hats.

Hillary has a new, equally scary role for herself: She is the madwoman at the wedding, the one who was scorned and pounces when the preacher says, “Does anyone know of any reason why this man and this woman should not be joined together? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Well, I can think of a couple,” she yells from a pew in the back. “He has no experience, his whole career is based on one speech and a lot of decent hardworking Americans who just happen to be white don’t like him.” There is some polite coughing, eye-rolling, one or two strained whispers — “God, not her again” — though nothing like the avalanche of admonition her husband envisions. Most people are just hoping that the bride and groom were go ahead with their vows (“I always wanted to be married in the Mile High City!”) and move on — even if she clearly isn’t ready to.

Campaigning in South Dakota, Hillary made a point of visiting Mount Rushmore, I guess so she could be photographed with some of our other exes. Her face appeared in the news, alongside the granite profiles of Jefferson and Roosevelt, and maybe she was just hoping we would take the hint. Sorry, lady. I’m sure you would make a perfectly good, er, husband (trying to stay with my analogy here, nothing wrong with pantsuits). But we, the ever-hopeful and often disappointed bride that is the loyal Democratic base, have fallen for someone else. Hard. And complaining about him just makes her look petty.

I guess it’s possible that she and crazy Bill are doing this just so they’ll look good when they stop ranting and join the party. Then we’ll smile politely when we see them at the reception and keep our distance. By the time the honeymoon is over and we’ve moved into the big white house we’ll have forgotten about the whole thing — though we’ll still want to put their portraits in the basement, if not the dumpster out back.