GOP Debate Gives Peggy Noonan Very Dainty, Ladylike Orgasms In Her Brain


He was not her usual bodega guy, the one who was already ringing up a new box of Mylanta the moment he saw her weaving her way across Third Avenue after a heavy night spent downing bar nuts and Bourbon Cobblers. This new counterman was unfamiliar with the pre-debate rituals of one Peggy Noonan, sister in good standing of the Order of Methaqualone Stupors. So he deserved the resulting disdain when he said he hoped she wasn’t planning a presidential debate drinking game to facilitate the consumption of her purchases. At least not if she wanted to keep her liver from fleeing to Bolivia. Her noble and icy stare caused him to stop mid-sentence, a thin line of drool descending from his lip in his panic, and hurriedly make change from the two crisp portraits of Benjamin Franklin she shoved at him.

She gathered up her things and left the bodega, irritated for the hundredth time that day about the outbreak of Legionnaires’ Disease in the Bronx that had Manuel hooked up to a respirator in Montefiore and not here, tending to her debate preparation with the attention to detail of Steve Erdedy. Tonight was a big night, when her beloved Republican Party would begin the arduous process of snatching the White House from the claws of that shrill harridan Hillary Clinton and restoring order to America. And she would be there to fawn over the buffet of choices to succeed the terrible Moor occupying the Oval Office.

The reliably on-point and interesting Carly Fiorina has been declared the overwhelming winner. That surprised me because I’ve seen her better, including this past weekend at the Koch donors seminars in California, where to some she was a revelation.

The way Mrs. Fiorina spouted talking points she had cribbed from reading nothing but National Review headlines was truly something to behold.

A political operative emailed me: “He just gave [a rude gesture] to the RNC.”

Heavens, do not tell anyone what that rude gesture was! This is a family political column! Children might read it!

Mr. Trump’s fiery clash with Megyn Kelly, after she challenged him on crude things he has said about women, did not work in his favor. He was boorish and ungentlemanly. Yes, I know that sounds quaint. The things he was accused of saying, which he didn’t deny, were ugly. However, the moment yielded probably the most memorable line of the evening: “Only Rosie O’Donnell.”

Ha ha, Rosie is a liberal, outspoken Hollywood lesbian, so it is okay to elevate this crack to the exalted status of “You’re no John Kennedy” because everyone knows what Republicans think of those people. Megyn Kelly, on the other hand, is a proper conservative woman who knows that Santa Claus is white, and therefore she is more worthy of respect.

Marco Rubio was fresh, crisp and poised. [Ed. Note: We’re pretty sure this is the point where Ms. Noonan’s Klonopin had kicked in.] Hillary Clinton, he said, won’t be able to lecture him on living paycheck to paycheck because “I was raised paycheck to paycheck.”

She needed an example of Hillary Clinton “lecturing” about living paycheck to paycheck and not “expressing empathy for” people who have to do so. She made a quick note to tell the syphilitic howler monkey employed as a researcher for the Wall Street Journal editorial page to look that up before her column was locked.

Mr. Paul accused Mr. Christie of taking President Obama’s side: “I know you gave him a big hug.” Mr. Christie was quick: “The hugs that I remember are the hugs that I gave to the families,” after 9/11. It was a fabulous cheap shot followed by excellent special pleading. Bravo for first-class fisticuffs.

Bully! It was a first-class sort of fight not seen since Battling Siki was taking on all comers in the rings of Europe. Bravo to these spirited chaps for appropriating the survivors of Hurricane Sandy and 9/11 for the purpose of taking cheap shots in a political debate!

Mr. Bush achieved adequacy.

Words that will be carved on the man’s tombstone.

Anyway, it was alive. I wonder if Hillary Clinton is wondering how she can look alive.

Step one: Stay away from Peggy Noonan.


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The president of the United States called a black woman a "dog" on Twitter Tuesday morning. It is common for folks who pride themselves on their supposed rational "level-headedness" to insist that Donald Trump's Twitter antics are part of some three-dimensional chess-like machinations intended to "distract" us from the Mueller investigation. But despite what Trump might think about my genetic stock, I'm capable of maintaining more than one competing thought in my head.

Sure, there's Russian collusion out the wazoo. Yes, immigrant children are still separated from their parents because of the Trump administration's cruel policies. But I also think whenever we dismiss something Trump does that would be a major story in any other presidency with a mammal chief executive, we help normalize this repulsive behavior.

I've mentioned before that every time Trump whips out his racist bullhorn, the "level-headed" brigade rapidly responds with examples of Trump also being an asshat to white guys and won't someone please think of them? "Doesn't Trump frequently call people dogs? He likes to take a Michael Vick theme to his personal insults." Charles M. Blow, who is more dedicated than I, looked into this claim, and it doesn't appear to be true.

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Morning Wonketariat! Here's some of the things we may be talking about today.

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