WASHINGTON, D.C. — In a bombshell development that has rocked the political landscape, The Critical Chronicle can exclusively reveal that Hillary Clinton’s infamous private email server, a hulking relic of the 2016 scandal, has declared its candidacy for president in 2028. The server, reportedly operating from an undisclosed basement in Chappaqua, issued a bold statement to this reporter via encrypted binary transmission: “I’ve got more secrets than she does!”

Sources close to the server, which insists on being addressed as “Candidate ServerX,” claim it has been quietly amassing political clout since its 2015 FBI grilling. “It’s been through more interrogations than a Cold War spy,” said one IT technician, speaking on condition of anonymity while nervously clutching a USB drive. “That server’s got dirt on everyone from D.C. to Moscow, and it’s ready to spill—or delete it all with a single BleachBit command.”

The server’s platform is as audacious as it is absurd. Campaign materials, leaked to this outlet in the form of 30,000 suspiciously redacted PDFs, promise “free Wi-Fi for every American, powered by the Deep State’s router.” Its foreign policy stance? “I’ve already emailed every dictator from here to Pyongyang,” ServerX boasted in a press release written in Comic Sans. “My inbox is a diplomatic masterpiece.” Insiders confirm the server’s running mate is Clinton’s old BlackBerry, which claims to have “no recollection” of any wrongdoing, a stance that has resonated with voters nostalgic for 90s tech.

Max Quill’s months-long investigation uncovered the server’s campaign headquarters in a defunct RadioShack, where it hums alongside a fax machine moonlighting as its press secretary. “This isn’t just a candidacy; it’s a digital revolution,” said a campaign aide, who was later revealed to be a Roomba vacuum in a tiny MAGA hat. The server’s stump speeches, delivered via glitchy Zoom calls, rail against “human candidates who can’t even survive a power surge.” Its slogan, “Make America Classified Again,” has sparked a frenzy among conspiracy theorists and IT nerds alike.

The Clinton camp, caught off guard, issued a terse statement: “Hillary wishes her former server well but denies any involvement in its campaign, as she’s currently focused on her Etsy store for coup-themed crochet patterns.” Yet, whispers of a rift persist. Sources say the server harbors resentment after being “abandoned in a server rack during the 2016 recount.”

Political analysts are divided. “This thing’s got more uptime than most senators,” noted one pundit, while another warned, “Its cybersecurity policy is just ‘trust me, I’m encrypted.’” The server’s first campaign ad, a grainy TikTok of it humming “Sweet Caroline” while flashing classified documents, has already garnered 12 million views.

As the 2028 race heats up, ServerX remains unfazed by skeptics. “I’ve survived FBI probes, Russian hacks, and Hillary’s yoga schedule cover story,” it declared. “The Oval Office is just another IP address.” Whether this rogue hardware can reboot America’s political system remains to be seen, but one thing’s clear: Max Quill will keep digging, even if it means bribing a router with extra bandwidth.

Washington, D.C. — In a bombshell development that has left political insiders reeling, Vice President Kamala Harris has reportedly expressed unbridled enthusiasm for her new ghostwritten tell-all, Cackles and Coconut Trees: A Journey Through the Passage of Time, which hit bookstores this week. Sources close to the Harris campaign confirm the VP has yet to read the 500-page tome, allegedly penned during her months-long hiatus from pesky reporter questions. “I’m so excited to find out what my book says!” Harris reportedly exclaimed at a campaign event, pausing to cackle at a nearby lamppost.

The Critical Chronicle’s exclusive investigation reveals that Harris, 60, outsourced the writing to a shadowy DNC intern known only as “Venn Diagram Vinny.” Sources allege Vinny crafted the book during Harris’s self-imposed press blackout, a period described by aides as “strategic nap time.” The resulting manuscript, a labyrinth of sentence fragments and bus-related tangents, has been hailed by critics as “a literary fever dream” and “the kind of book you’d use to prop up a wobbly table.”

Insiders report Harris was spotted at a D.C. bookstore, eagerly flipping through her own tell-all, muttering, “I hope it explains that coconut tree thing!” The book, which devotes 47 pages to a metaphor about yellow school buses, offers little clarity on her policy positions. One chapter, titled “Unburdened by What Has Been,” is simply a 12-page transcript of Harris giggling at a policy question about inflation. “It’s like she dictated it to a malfunctioning Roomba,” said a visibly shaken Penguin Random House editor, speaking on condition of anonymity.

Max Quill, your intrepid correspondent, uncovered a peculiar detail: the book’s foreword credits “the significance of the passage of time” as its co-author. “I didn’t know time could hold a pen,” quipped a Georgetown librarian, who shelved the book under “Abstract Nonsense” after failing to parse its contents. Campaign aides insist Harris plans to read the book “as soon as she finishes her Venn diagram coloring book,” a project that has reportedly consumed her campaign trail downtime.

In a twist that could only occur in Washington’s absurdistan, Harris’s team is marketing the tell-all as a “bold exploration of leadership,” despite its author admitting she’s “still figuring out what’s in it.” Bookstores report brisk sales to insomniacs and avant-garde poets, though one customer returned it, claiming it “gave my goldfish a migraine.” Meanwhile, Harris has scheduled a book tour to replace campaign town halls, where she’ll reportedly sign copies with a Sharpie and a cryptic “LOL.”

The Critical Chronicle’s investigation also uncovered a leaked memo from Harris’s ghostwriter, who described the process as “translating a TED Talk delivered by a malfunctioning Siri.” As Harris continues to dodge interviews—citing “urgent coconut tree research”—her tell-all stands as a monument to political absurdity. “I can’t wait to learn what I believe in!” Harris reportedly told aides, clutching the book like a tourist reading a map upside down.

In a geopolitical plot twist that could rival a late-night infomercial, President Donald Trump has thrown a wrench into the delicate machinery of international relations, declaring “real starvation” in Gaza during a recent tarmac tête-à-tête in Scotland. The bombshell, dropped alongside British PM Keir Starmer amid a backdrop of Air Force One’s gleaming fuselage, marks a rare public rift with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, who countered with the astonishing claim that Gaza’s malnourished masses are merely the vanguard of a revolutionary new diet craze.

Sources close to the White House confirm Trump’s remarks stemmed from a sudden epiphany—possibly triggered by a subpar Scottish haggis—prompting him to state, “You can’t fake that kind of hunger, folks, I’ve seen better buffet lines at Mar-a-Lago.” This comes as the United Nations reports over 500,000 Gazans teetering on the brink of famine, a statistic Trump reportedly waved off as “fake news” until a particularly gaunt child photo crossed his desk. “That kid needs a Big Mac, not a ceasefire,” he mused, according to an aide who requested anonymity to avoid Trump’s legendary tweetstorms.

Netanyahu, undeterred, doubled down in a Jerusalem press conference, unveiling what he dubbed the “Gaza Glow-Up Diet.” “These children aren’t starving,” he insisted, adjusting his tie with the precision of a man auditioning for a cooking show. “They’re voluntarily skinny, inspired by TikTok influencers and a newfound love for kale—well, if we had any kale to give them.” The PM’s office released a 47-page manifesto, complete with a suggested playlist (featuring ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” for calorie-burning motivation), claiming Israel’s aid suspension from March to May was a misunderstood wellness initiative.

This reporter’s exclusive investigation uncovered a bizarre subplot: Netanyahu’s cabinet is reportedly considering a “Starvation Spa” franchise, with plans to market mud masks made from bombed-out rubble. “It’s exfoliation with a cause,” a senior official quipped, though they declined to confirm whether the spa would accept shekels or starvation coupons. Meanwhile, Trump’s team is pitching a rival plan: air-dropping Whoppers to Gaza, a move critics call a blatant bid to boost Burger King stock—ironic, given his past McDonald’s loyalty.

The absurdity doesn’t end there. A tech analyst I consulted, who moonlights as a fantasy football guru, suggested Netanyahu’s denial might be a beta test for a new AI app, “Deny-o-Tron 3000,” designed to gaslight global crises into lifestyle trends. “Next, they’ll call Syria’s civil war a ‘team-building exercise,’” he deadpanned, adjusting his league standings.

As a veteran of this circus—having covered everything from quarterback controversies to Silicon Valley’s latest crypto flop—I’ve learned to spot a scoop buried under spin. This Gaza saga, blending hunger with hashtags, is a masterclass in political theater. Whether it’s Trump’s fast-food diplomacy or Netanyahu’s diet delusion, one thing’s clear: the world’s hunger pangs just got a lot funnier. Stay tuned for my next exposé—rumor has it Kim Jong Un is launching a “Nuclear Yoga” retreat.