The American Spectator

Enemy of the Week

Kiss and Make Up

By Enemy Central on 9.28.05 @ 12:12AM

Houston, we've got a problem. Was it really necessary to empty a city of 5 million all because the powers that be felt that under a Bush presidency its safety could not be guaranteed in the face of a hurricane that dumped all of two inches on the greater metropolitan area and subjected the few brave souls that stayed behind to a night of howling winds no scarier than a typical Halloween celebration?

Not that it necessarily did him any good, but President Bush was ahead of the curve this hurricane season. A month ago he was lambasted for not leaving Crawford soon enough to defend against Katrina. Yet all the while he was perfectly positioned to fend off Rita, which ended up causing much less psychic damage to the country as a result. Enemy Central hopes the Crawford ranch remains Bush Central.

Last night the nation inaugurated a new president. Played by Geena Davis, she made the rescue of a beleaguered Nigerian woman our country's highest priority. We knew all this ahead of time thanks to the ministrations of critic Tom Shales, who ever in the know captured the essential quality of Ms. Davis's character: the blood red lipstick she sports. Viewers of ABC's Monday Night Football might have noticed the those dark thick lips last night during Ms. Davis's very friendly promo drop-by with hosts Al Michaels and John Madden. The nation can take comfort that we now have a president who has blood on his lips, not on his hands. If we may extend the lookist theme still further, for once we can surmise what is contained in the "football" case that always accompanies a president -- her makeup!

We're not done with the lookism. Say what you will about Ms. Cindy Sheehan, but her hair at least has come a long way since her split-ended camping out in Crawford. Not since Dorothy Hamill at the 1976 Winter Olympics has anyone gone public with such a efficiently cut perky hairstyle as Ms. Sheehan during her appearance at weekend antiwar festivities in beautiful downtown Washington, D.C. We hope she was allowed access to her blowdrier during her time in jail.

Then there's our fave, Sen. Mary Landrieu, who one suspects didn't like Shales's review of Davis's show at all, especially the part in which Shales went ga-ga over Davis's all-embracing "cuteness." For as everyone knows, it's Senator Mary's own cuteness -- especially with that button nose -- that is the secret to her political appeal. Notice how easily she got away with her unabashed threat to punch out the real President of the U.S. if he said anything she disagrees with. Perhaps the Secret Service shrugged it off because she didn't also, as someone in her position might have been expected to, threaten to scratch Mr. Bush's eyes out. Fortunately for all concerned, Senator Mary's fury has given way to streams of tears, as bitter and salty as the waters that gave us Rita and Katrina.

Which brings us to Sen. Barbara Mikulski, whose entire career has been dedicated to the proposition that she will never pretend to be cute. So like countless Democrats in search of meaning, she has decided to vote against John Roberts. It's a fine decision. Roberts goes on to become the greatest chief justice of the United States since John Marshall. The Democrats go on to become as honored in memory as the Barbary Pirates.

In these circumstances, the real winner of our neglected prize is Sen. Dianne Feinstein. Completely disregarding Judge Roberts's constitutional right to privacy, she demanded he spill the beans on his inner-most thoughts. When he would not promise to pull the plug on those closest to him, she characteristically did all in her power to terminate his nomination. The filthy-rich Feinstein even had the nerve to accuse Roberts of not caring for those less privileged than she is. All in all, dippy Dianne did the impossible: she came across as a more deserving Enemy of the Week than Barbara Boxer ever has. Our lives will never be the same.

Letter to the Editor

topics:
Sports, Constitution, NATO