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Introducing Maureen Dowd's Magical Half-Human Sister

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Down in the bog called Washington, where the menfolk cut the peat to warm the home hearths, theydo speak of the passel of Dowd children. There was Joseph, killed by fire, twice. There was Martin, who drowned on dry land. There was the first set of twins, who perished of plow elbow and altar boy's knee, respectively. There was the second set of twins, who grew to thrive as vibrantly as their brothers did wither, and who did open the finest gastropub in the village. And then, of course, there was the bardic sage, young Maureen, who remembered the Old Ways, and who sang the history of her people.


One of the independent voters Obama will be trying to charm over the next two years is my sister, Peggy, a formerly ardent Obamican (a Republican who changed spots to vote for Obama).

Aye, Peggy. Peggy the changeling, they called her down the pub, though none would dare say it in the presence of the fearsome Maureen Bridgid Dowd. Proud was Mo, and sharp of tongue. Her frequent allusions to Oliver Cromwell and sexual intercourse ensured her place among the pantheon of great Irish tellers of tales. And she would not suffer slights against her half-human sister.

Disillusioned with her beloved W. over Iraq and Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld and the disdain for bipartisanship, she gave her affections -- and small cash infusions -- to Barack Obama in 2008.

Lo, and Pegeen's affections were so great that soon she found herself with child. The father was a mysterious dark man from, it was whispered, the World Beyond the Hills. The child was born in the form of the Greatest Presidency of All Time, but Peggy soon grew to hate the child she'd helped create.

Despite being a Washington native, Peggy believed that the dazzling young newcomer could change Washington.

Aye, but then ... ahh, fuck it. It's a boring Maureen Dowd column about how her annoying-sounding sister is whiny because Obamar doesn't say her favorite things on the teevee, and how this means all American citizens feel exactly the same way. And Peggy wants to vote for Mittens, and Maureen types this as if it were a perfectly normal and logical thing for a sane human to say. Here's more from Our Peggy, via her sister:

I don't watch him anymore. I'm turned off by him. I think he's an elitist. He went down to the gulf, telling everyone to take a vacation down there, and then he goes to Martha's Vineyard. He does what he wants but then he tells us to do other things.

Did Maureen Dowd intentionally set out to make her sister sound like an angry 6-year-old, or was she going more for Plain-Speakin' Simpleminded 'Murican? If I were Peg Dowd, I'd smack my sis with a hairbrush and tell her to stop quoting me in her weekly public diary entries. And then I'd take a long swig off the bottle and have some roast meat, even if 'twere a Friday, as the good Roman Father did give us the dispensation, during the Famine.

Also, as usual, a million Pultizer Prizes for all Dowds, everywhere. [NYT]

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

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