The war on womyn continues apace, the product of so-called friendly fire. There was the recent reemergence of that woman, Ms. Lewinsky, all of it premised on the delicious delusion that she had been the only other woman in the love of her life’s life. For her troubles, she was promptly smacked down by the bewitchy likes of Maureen Dowd and Ruth Marcus, aka David Brooks’ occasional partner… on PBS. Ms. Tina Brown joined in, spewing volcanic hate. She always did like it hot. The consensus — Ms. Lewinsky had cleared the air. The wronged wife would no longer have to worry about her as she proceeded toward coronation in January 2017.
Enemy of the Week
He was supposed to be the flavor of the millennium, but now he’s having trouble remaining the taste of the day. We take a dollop of credit. Last week Ms. Maureen Dowd took top EOW honors. Her rehabilitation was swift. Looking at him now she smells a loser. She can’t stand his thin skin. “[Y]ou convey the sense that any difference on substance is lèse-majesté,” she tells him as she subjects him to her own patented form of that French word for dissing someone. “[You] are the American president,” she reminds him, not the singles hitter he’s now content to pretend to be. “Truculent passivity,” she calls it. A 90-lb. weakling, in other words. Oh, and don’t torment us with any more of your empty speeches, she warns him, because “we’re speeched out.” Then presumably she yanks out his tonsils and vocal chords. Let’s see how quickly he learns to sign. Is there a teleprompter that can handle that?
Our leader is many times zones away and thus in no condition to respond to reports of new discrepancies in the Obamacare body count. When last he calculated he came up with the figure of 8.1 million. Now at least 2.7 million of those Obamacarriers have gone missing. They may never find a doctor they like enough to keep.
Our leader is hanging tough on other pressing matters. His old friend Vlad is now charging Ukraine with acting criminally for defending its sovereignty. Leader has responded by reminding the Impaler that he has other sanctions “teed up” and ready to be hooked or sliced, depending on the mood of his swing and the technological prowess of his driver. As these things go, those sanctions could end up in the woods or a water hazard. What’s the penalty for landing out of bounds in international play?
Obamacare’s record enrollment numbers decreased by one yesterday with the resignation of the most powerful woman in Washington, Ms. Kathleen Sebelius. She wasn’t fired, lest unemployment numbers increased by one. In the end, then, balance was achieved, the only logical explanation for her bizarre comment on announcing her resignation, “My balance has always been, when do you make that decision?” Unless she was referring to her checkbook balance, or previous interest in performing on the balance beam. Or just walking a tightrope.
We’ll miss her, for reasons yet to be determined. Perhaps we fear her successor won’t be as competent and caring. Or maybe we’ve experienced too many resignations of late. Or as we should say, adhering to HHS guidelines, there’s been too much loss in our lives.
You’ll notice we took a breather last week. That’s only because politics stops at the oceans’ edge, and though he’s failed to stem their rise our sense of jurisdictional fair play meant we could only admire our favorite foe from afar as he shot the breeze in the Netherlands, rocked away in Brussels, turned saintly in Rome, and bowed very low in Riyadh. He was especially memorable at the Vatican, where like a regular Johnny Appleseed he bestowed the fruits of the White House vegetable patch on his kindly host, giving rise to comparisons of our nation’s leader to a not so fictional political maven, Chance the Gardener.
Well, at least we know he’s not a Cossack. “We are not going to be getting into a military excursion in Ukraine,” our president commander has declared. Who says a Nobel Peace Prize is not a good investment? We’re surprised he didn’t travel to Fulton, Missouri, to announce the following. “What we are going to do is mobilize all of our diplomatic resources to make sure that we’ve got a strong international coalition that sends a clear message.” Getting nervous, are you Mr. Putin? Or has your translator not dared to translate? We all remember the fate of the one who caused Uncle Joe to get giddy.
It takes a special kind of man to seek asylum in Mother Russia. Lee Harvey Oswald couldn’t make a go of it. Edward Snowden isn’t likely to either. Now we have Vic Yanukovych, the former winger and captain of the Kiev Rooftop Snipers. “I think Putin hates Yanukovych,” a Kremlin adviser told the New York Times.
Has the New York Times come out against rap videos? The lede paragraphs to a long front page story last Saturday suggested it had: “… players simulated sexual acts as they taunted a teammate about his sister…racist epithets and homophobic language flowed… including improper touching and sexual taunting… the verbal and physical abuse was widespread and even celebrated.” Or maybe the story was condemning revered boot camp traditions? Or drunken boys-will-be-boys fraternity rites? Or Republican presidential hopefuls warming up for 2016?
You can close the book on Al Gore. He lied to us. Pure and simple. Then he took the money and ran, okay, waddled, while we’ve just had to shell out for a new sled, a fresh pack of huskies, and additional space heaters for our igloo. So much for his promises that we’d be living in Tahiti by now. There’s currently more snow in Washington, D.C. than in Sochi.
“Earth in the Balance,” Al used to say. Hah! Just like the equilibrium he and then-wife Ms. Tipper Gore displayed in “Joined at the Heart,” their pre-divorce book on the bedrock role of family in their lives. The book was an outgrowth of an earlier Al Gore offering, “Common Sense Government: Works Better and Costs Less.” It appears to still have one avid reader, a fellow who goes by the name of John Boehner. He dips into it for bedtime stories every time he tucks Mitch McConnell in.
It was going to be a coronation. After the greatest season ever, he’d be crowned the greatest quarterback ever. All that remained was a win in the Super Bowl, a mere formality. Inevitability was never more predestined. Press coverage was 110 percent unanimous, capped by a pre-game piece on how annoying the player’s perfectionism was to all his teammates and coaches, so superior he was to each and every one of them, individually, collectively, and as a franchise. Not that they didn’t all worship at his quick-moving feet.
OK, S-B Sunday turned out not to be his day. Or night.