Sometimes Peggy Noonan, long-suffering Mother Superior of the Order of the Nitrous Stupor, liked to take the air in Central Park. She would stroll along the Ramble and bring along some crusts of bread to feed the ducks at the lake. She might find a quiet bench to sit on, to watch the joggers and the cyclists and the mothers and nannies pushing baby carriages past on their endless constitutionals. She might look up at the grand buildings of Central Park West and imagine them all crumbling to dust in a holocaust of fire unleashed by Iranian nukes. The wind would howl along the avenues, destroying everything in its path. All those beautiful saloons and watering holes gone…
After being led back to her penthouse apartment overlooking the park by those two nice doormen (why were they wearing white? Perhaps for Spring), Her Mightiness of the Reagan Pen found a dollar to slip into each of their jacket pockets. She slumped into her classic creaking wooden office chair and tried to focus on the hulking black Underwood. It seemed to hunch before her, suddenly threatening with all its iron mass. A half-finished letter congratulating the Shah of Iran on his return to the Peacock Throne still hung there on yellowed paper, fluttering above the carbon.She cried out for Manuel, and her loyal servant appeared from the shadows. He looked like he had lost weight. Perhaps he was doing Paul Ryan's workout program, RX something. That reminded her why she summoned her faithful brown servant. She needed another case of Nyquil, two cases of Bombay Gin, a six month supply of pseudoephedrine and Valium, and three cases of vodka. And close the drapes, there was some light from that black president's solar power filtering in.It was going to be a long, difficult summer.
For me, it would be interesting to the extent I could preserve the degree of objectivity necessary to observe my ass being kicked up hill and down dale in any game that does not involve excessive alcohol intake.
You know what the best (and by best, I mean absolute worst) part is? The fact that this bullshit was accurately predicted to the minutest detail by opponents of civilian nuclear energy in the 70s and 80s.
Being a liberal means always being able to say I told you so, but never enjoying it - except in the case of dumb anti-gay bigots getting thrown under the bus by corporate fat cats.
Dame Noonan is frequently "Not even Wrong."
Yep. Qaddafi was so harmless, her own boss Reagan bombed his house and (allegedly) killed his two-year-old daughter.
Who was the first?
(*places small bet on Nicolas Cage*)
All of that would count, but he is a) not Republican, and b) not Reagan, so really, what has Nobummer done in office? NOTHING.
How we Libturds can continue defending this uppity nobody whose never held a Real Jerb, I have no idea.
Reagan wanted to make his second term about the end of nuclear weapons.
He wasn't capable of making it about that, but that was what he wanted.
expect Peg to weigh in as soon as Manuel returns with the goods
I too am concerned for Manuel. Perhaps an unfortunate blender accident?
i'm in.
Looks to me like the WSJ ran the winning entry in their "Bad Peggy Noonan" contest.
Peggy needed to mullah over this column a bit more.
After being led back to her penthouse apartment overlooking the park by those two nice doormen (why were they wearing white? Perhaps for Spring), Her Mightiness of the Reagan Pen found a dollar to slip into each of their jacket pockets. She slumped into her classic creaking wooden office chair and tried to focus on the hulking black Underwood. It seemed to hunch before her, suddenly threatening with all its iron mass. A half-finished letter congratulating the Shah of Iran on his return to the Peacock Throne still hung there on yellowed paper, fluttering above the carbon.She cried out for Manuel, and her loyal servant appeared from the shadows. He looked like he had lost weight. Perhaps he was doing Paul Ryan's workout program, RX something. That reminded her why she summoned her faithful brown servant. She needed another case of Nyquil, two cases of Bombay Gin, a six month supply of pseudoephedrine and Valium, and three cases of vodka. And close the drapes, there was some light from that black president's solar power filtering in.It was going to be a long, difficult summer.
Crushed by a shipping container of green olives (w. pimenti?)
For me, it would be interesting to the extent I could preserve the degree of objectivity necessary to observe my ass being kicked up hill and down dale in any game that does not involve excessive alcohol intake.
Actually, Charlize Theron saying she hates pretentious actors.
Dang!! I was so sure that was in the bag!!
You know what the best (and by best, I mean absolute worst) part is? The fact that this bullshit was accurately predicted to the minutest detail by opponents of civilian nuclear energy in the 70s and 80s.
Being a liberal means always being able to say I told you so, but never enjoying it - except in the case of dumb anti-gay bigots getting thrown under the bus by corporate fat cats.