 Oh,
Grow Up
by
Maureen Dowd
It's obvious that this president just won't be satisfied
until he dons a yellow slicker and actually takes the place of Sheppard
Smith, violently blown about by a hurricane as he talks into a camera lens
lashed with water, hanging onto a mailbox as he's hit by a flying pig in a
squall, sucked up by a waterspout in the eye of the storm over the Dry
Tortugas. How about that prose? Is it any wonder that I have a Matrix for my
mantelpiece, a Runyon for my rec-room, and a Pulitzer for my potty? The
swirling swine is so sensational. Can't you see in your mind's eye the pork
pummeling the president?
Not that this president is dismissive of pork. The Bush
administration spends money in a manner highly reminiscent of the fiscal
wizardry of a drunken sailor, albeit the slobbering seaman is certainly not
scattering the coin of the huddled masses. And why are the masses huddled?
One assumes it is to avoid being bitch-slapped by the deranged dry-drunk
demagoguery of Democracy's drooling dunce.
I hold these truths to be self-evident, and in no need for
further extraneous elucidation, at least not until my next column. What is
it you cry, faithful reader? You mourn the fact that my words now reside
behind a firewall? Oh, grow up.
I am so sick of your incessant whining. Yes, fifty bucks is a lot to pay
for the privilege of reading me and Krugman, I agree. (Or 49.95 - whatever)
So here's a clue for you. Don't do it.
Don't get me wrong. The New York Times is a great
newspaper, but the website totally blows. The thing is laid out like a
newspaper, for Christ's sake. Throw in their typefaces and gazillion
graphical doodads, and the thing is almost illegible.
I'm going to let you budding geniuses in on a secret -
we're all syndicated. You want Krugman?
Here you go.
Got an itch for Frank Rich?
Scratch away.
Nick Kristof?
Knock
yourself out. David Brooks?
It's your funeral. And of course you can find me right here on Fried
Green al-Qaedas, the blog with news you can use.
Speaking of Dry Tortugas, doesn't that name sound like a
brand of corn chip concoction, the kind our comically klutzy commander in
chief could choke on while attempting to watch a football game? Yes. Yes it
does. |
