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Before commissioning her new oh-woe-is-me book, Hillary Clinton apparently didn’t get the memos:

Like, “Self-pity is not good box office.” That one’s from an old-time Hollywood producer.

Or, “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in the stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.” That would be from William Shakespeare, in “Julius Caesar.”

And finally, Travis Tritt: “Here’s a quarter, call someone who cares.”

In case you’ve missed it, Hillary’s new book, “What Happened,” basically blames everyone in the world except herself for her loss in the presidential race last year.

A partial list of those at whom she shakily points her wrinkly finger at:

Barack Obama, Joe Biden, Bernie Sanders, Donald Trump, Matt Lauer, Carlos Danger, James Comey and The New York Times.

Seriously, the Times – the paper whose publisher and editor basically apologized after the election for not covering the campaign (not that the young Jayson Blairs on the staff actually wanted to venture out to those yucky places where the voters Hillary calls Deplorables live).

Hillary now claims she was a victim of tough reporting, even though we all know from reading the Wikileaks memos that those unctuous little trust-funded snowflakes didn’t publish anything last year that they didn’t clear first with the Clinton campaign.

These same Hillary hagiographers now say that Democrats are sick about this book coming out, but I’m loving it. At age 70, Hillary as clueless as ever. She admits it was “bad optics” to do all those $225,000-a-pop Goldman, Sachs shakedowns, I mean speeches, but now she’s charging $1500 per person to attend her book signing in Toronto.

Talking about Vladimir Putin, she says Donald Trump is his “friendly puppet” – so what does that make Hillary, signing off on the Russkies taking 20 percent of the nation’s uranium supply, after which she collected tens of millions of rubles for the Clinton Foundation while her husband suddenly started grabbing $500,000 per “speech” on a tour of the former Soviet Union?

Speaking of Bill, she says he spent election day “chomping on an unlit cigar.”

Wow. Fill in your own cigar/Monica Lewinsky joke here.

Then there’s her last conversation with Barry Soetoro before the polls opened:

“You’ve got this.”

Then he told her, “If you like your health-care plan, you can keep your health-care plan.”

Just kidding about that one.

She does admit that since her defeat, “I drank my share of chardonnay.”

Really? I just remembered another memo Hillary didn’t get, this one from Barbara Mandrell: “Drinkin’ doubles alone don’t make a party.”

Okay, you say, but after a lifetime of back-stabbing, cork-screwing and double-dealing, maybe now, as Hillary approaches the checkout counter, she is trying to get right with God and finally tell the truth. Er, no, she’s not.

Of her “marriage,” if you can call it that, to Bill Clinton, she says there have been “many, many more happy days than sad or angry ones.”

And that’s the truth, or she didn’t win 100 percent of her bets on cattle futures back in Arkansas after diligently studying the commodities column of the Wall Street Journal.

“I asked myself the questions that mattered to me. Do I still love him?… The answers were always yes.”

Do you believe her? The answer is always no.

Then there’s the ex-FBI director James Comey. After her multiple felonies involving the email server and the Espionage Act, Comey was such a crooked cop that he began drafting a dismissal of all charges against her almost before his G-men even began investigating her, and months before she was questioned, not under oath.

Then, when Comey was asked, during sworn testimony to Congress, if he had in fact broomed the case, he flat-out lied. Under oath. That’s called perjury.

What more could you ask of a bum-kissing Democrat stooge? But this is the thanks Comey gets – she calls him “rash,” which rhymes with “trash.” No good deed goes unpunished.

Now Hillary begins her book tour, complete with stops in Wisconsin, the great cheese state she never deigned to visit pre-Nov. 8. Again, fill in your own joke here.

I just thought of one final memo she didn’t get, from Dan Hicks of Dan Hicks and the Hot Licks fame:

“How can we miss you when you won’t go away?”

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Howie Carr is the New York Times best-selling author of The Brothers Bulger and Hitman, in addition to several other Boston organized-crime books and two novels. He is the host of a New England-wide radio talk-show syndicated to more than 20 stations, and is a member of the Radio Hall of Fame in Chicago.

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