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Forever-'Tween Maureen Dowd Sexts All the Young Vampires

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Somebody tell Charlie Rose to get his ass to Hot Topic:Maureen Dowd wants to make sexytime with a vampire. Imagine, for a moment, that you are M. Dowd. Your journaliturgical home, the New York Times, reaches millions of humans around the world via print and the Internets. Now let us also imagine that it is Sunday, July 4th, 2010. Many folks who don't usually take the time to catch up on their reading are skimming the big fat Sunday edition. It's a vacation! Verily they kick back, enjoy some savory Jewish "breakfast donuts" with "creamed cheese" and read about America, maybe something poignant and brave and thoughtful on this, the birthday of General Christ Washington.


What are you going to write for them, Maureen, you Pulitzer-prize winning Titian-haired mistress of the whimsical and the smart? How will you talk to the readership that has, at least in part, lauded you for your combination of biting wit, incisive political commentary, and preternaturally youthful appearance? What will be your latest addition to several senators' secret-shame spank bank? Oh! Here it is!

"It wasn't until I was in high school that fangs started to seem alluring."

Happy birthday, America! Maureen Brigid Dowd would like Dracula to throw it inside her. See, The Twilight Eclipsed opened this weekend! BOOM! The NY Times Op-ed page is relevant again, to the Youth!

Let's begin at the beginning, as is traditional in many (but probably not all, you fascists!) cultures. Moe D starts out strong: "Sometimes the thing that's weird about you is the thing that's cool about you." This is unarguably true! For example, Picasso was an artist, like our own Lauri Apple. This is weird, because art is not sports. But it is also cool! Maureen Dowd has written a good lede.

And here again is something smart and good and fuck it, even inspiring:

What needs to be nurtured is the stuff that's different, that sets you apart from the pack, rather than the stuff that helps you blend in.

A call to arms for the weirdos, the nerds, the geeks and the oddballs. Let us make this personal, so that it stirs the heart: When I was seven years old, you know who my favorite writer was? Art Buchwald. I read my grandparents' collections of his columns and lost my shit laughing at his Spiro Agnew jokes. I had no idea who the fuck Spiro Agnew was. But my family nurtured their strange little imp's fondness for political humor, and now here I am today, contributing daily (surprise!) to the world's only website. MoDo knows what up.

Then, later, she encourages us/you to "let your freak flag fly." Okay! Still with her!

And then Our Gal starts to do the thing she sometimes does, which is to say, she starts to lose it.

Al Gore would probably have gotten to be president if he hadn't let his campaign mercenaries talk him out of a full-throated zeal on ... the environment.

Or, ha ha, if the election he actually did win hadn't been stolen from him through a series of unfortunate yet highly convenient events involving lies, the Supreme Court of the United States, more lies, and the state led by the fucking brother of the guy running against him. Or, you know, if folks like Maureen Dowd hadn't dedicated their bully pulpits to helping crush his chances at a very clear margin of victory by painting him as womanish.

And here is where the S.S. Maureentania goes truly apeshit:

From the time I was small, I had a passion that many others found strange ... a royal heartthrob who appealed to no one but me. He had a funny accent, odd eating habits and bizarre sleep patterns ... like me, he didn't like the beach or baking in the sun.

What? Hey? Whoa? Being different? Al Gore should've talked about the environment? Where the flying fuck is this headed? More importantly, who is this pale homosexual who had Our Lady's pristine white cotton panties in a moist Catholic twist?

Ohhhhh ... it's Dracula! Or, um, all vampires?

I tried to get the gloomy goth out of my bloodstream and move on to more mainstream sex symbols like Steve McQueen.

Tragically, even Bullitt could not stem the flow of unholy vamp-lust bursting forth from Mo Diggity's undercarriage. And now, on this USA Birthday Weekend, her teen obsession is at last validated!

What I kept on the down-low is now dominating American pop culture.

Ignore for a moment, that a 58-year-old Pulitzer Prize winner has co-opted the language of the streets to describe her childhood sex fetish. Ask yourself why Maureen Dowd got her adolescent rocks off pining for an undead cannibal of the Carpathians. Now ask yourself why so many American Women (TM) are into this quasi-semi-sorta-non-consensual-sex fantasy. Now wonder what the hell all this has to do with being independent and different.

Now read MoDo quoting Tim Stack of EW on how vamps who get staked on "True Blood" turn into "'a puddle of red, sticky, slimy ... goo.'"

And now, if you are still alive, in the traditional sense, take a deep breath and experience the last line of America's Greatest Column:

The moral of my story is simple: to thine own goo be true.

A thousand more Pulitzers for Maureen Dowd, right now, with honorable mentions to Robert Pattinson and Dakota Fanning. [NYT]

--

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Sara Benincasa actually wrote this -- and sent it to Wonkette's newsroom -- on her Verizon "Wireless" Blackberry.

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