Maureen Dowd -- All The Drool that's fit to...
JohnHuang2
Dowdy's latest rant, The Soufflé Doctrine, reminds me of that age-old axiom, 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.'
Poor gal. You almost feel pity for the miserable wretch.
For Dowdy, life just isn't the same anymore, not after sweetheart Michael Douglas traded the weather-beaten battle-ax for shiny heartthrob Catherine Zeta-Jones. Michael, adding insult to injury, calls the swap a bargain.
And what a b-o-r-i-n-g life. Even George Burns (1896-1996) has a better sex life.
Her evenings are about as monotonous as Al Gore speeches.
Her typical night? Going-a-begging, scouring for crumbs of comfort. It's either bar-hopping with the Hampton set, or hanging out with Annette Bening, Ron Silver, Richard Dreyfuss and Bianca Jagger. Dowdy calls it 'staying in touch' with the common man, something Warren Beatty taught her.
Once home, after tripping and stumbling around in a fruitless zigzag search for the computer, the sozzled hag droops over onto her couch, drunker than Teddy Kennedy on St. Patrick's Day.
Through the Bourbon mist, the pie-eyed shrew notices the Power Mac on the coffee table right in front of her, keyboard still sticky after spilling a bottle of viagra-laced Jack Daniels the last time around. In a burst of maniacal delirium, the mad-as-a-hatter scribbler imagined the keyboard had morphed into Michael's puckered lips.
She puts down the bottle this time, though, and starts banging and whacking the keys away in a frenzy, shrieking and moaning at the top of her croaky voice as she goes.
Neighbors say that's how you know Dowdy's penning yet another hate-Bush bleat, especially when she squawks, "Michael! Michael! Why, you son-of-a-(rhymes with itch)! I'll teach you yet!"
But I think I understand what's eating Dowdy, frazzled that Bush's popularity still rates higher than her I.Q. The problem is 7-fold:
- 1) Bush ain't no felon.
- 2) Bush ain't no perjurer.
- 3) Bush ain't no traitor.
- 4) Bush ain't no coward.
- 5) Bush ain't no crook.
- 6) Bush ain't no liar.
- 7) Bush ain't no rapist.
In other words, George W., as Dowdy sees it, has some serious character flaws, not the least of which is that he loves his family -- including (gasp!) his wife!
'What?! No dress-staining, bimbo-chaser defiling the People's House? That's defining morality up. No way, can't have that,' says Dowdy.
Speaking of which, Dowdy-Democrats love to wallow in "moral" crusades, untethered to any substance. To give meaning to her life, Dowdy now fancies herself the keyboard warrioress, doing her part, battling bravely the world's most odious regime -- Bush's.
She's an "army", all right -- an army of none.
Dowdy -- petty, childish, irrelevant -- has become a caricature of ... Dowdy.
Small wonder.
For the weather, you see the weather pages.
For sports, you open the sport pages.
For fashion, you find the fashion pages.
But for no-fact pap, Dowdy's column is the place to go.
Her stuff has all the substance of Diet Coke. Indeed, between Dowdy and "Barbra", the only difference is a spell-check.
'She ain't playing with a full deck,' some say.
I say, what deck?
Her columns are living proof you don't need pea brains to string drivel together into sentences. Dowdy's the little engine -- that couldn't.
The unfettered hate which flows from her Bush-bashing harangues illustrate another point: You don't need to scour caves in Tora-Bora for remnants of al-Qaeda: Pravda West swarms with Taliban-wannabes.
I thought of using Dowdy's column as bird-cage liner.
My bird felt insulted. 'Get that no-talent out of here!'
Dowdy, O Dowdy, hate to burst your bubble, but outside the Beltway, no-one gives a lick what you think. Smear and innuendo from smarmy partisan hacks like you weigh nothing in the balance.
And only shows your pitifully thin grasp of reality. As you try to fill the hate-Bush niche, your tiresome, predictable one-track pony-ism is wearing numbingly dull.
In closing, here's 4 sincere words of advice: Get a life, already.
Gotta hand it to the New York Times, All The Drool That's Fit To Spit.
Anyway, that's...
My two cents...
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