Peggington. We love Peggington so much, and we don’t even care who knows! In this week’s very special Thanksgiving edition of her Wall Street Journal psychodiary, “Declarations,” the Noonanism — an embarrassingly insular worldview in which no personal anecdote is void of world-historical spiritual import — has been cranked deep into the red. Here’s what Peggy’s thankful for this weekend: that the mysterious Negro president has been such a delight so far; that she doesn’t have to see poor people on the street; and that God safely carries her around on airplanes when she needs to travel. We will focus on the second and the third.

Sometimes you read these columns and all you want to do is punch Ronald Reagan in the face:

I am thankful for something we’re not seeing. One of the weirdest, most perceptually jarring things about the economic crisis is that everything looks the same. We are told every day and in every news venue that we are in Great Depression II, that we are in a crisis, a cataclysm, a meltdown, the credit crunch from hell, that we will lose millions of jobs, and that the great abundance is over and may never return. Three great investment banks have fallen while a fourth totters, and the Dow Jones Industrial Average has fallen 31% in six months. And yet when you free yourself from media and go outside for a walk, everything looks . . . the same.

Everyone is dressed the same. Everyone looks as comfortable as they did three years ago, at the height of prosperity. The mall is still there, and people are still walking into the stores and daydreaming with half-full carts in aisle 3. Everyone’s still overweight. (An evolutionary biologist will someday write a paper positing that the reason for the obesity epidemic of the past decade is that we were storing up food like squirrels and bears, driven by an unconscious anthropomorphic knowledge that a time of great want was coming. Yes, I know it will be idiotic.) But the point is: Nothing looks different.

Well, shit. It looks like we’re going to have make another pot of coffee laced with Adderall… back in five. [Pause]

You’ll noticed the simple Noonanization conceit in the above passage: she takes a standard news event that’s backed with empirical data — a free-falling economy, in this case — and refuses to engage with it as such ; no, Peggy is far too self-aware of her writerly perch for that, and she must tackle the news through her creative lens: when Peggy Noonan leaves her Upper East Side apartment for a morning constitutional, does she see all of these “poor people” the news keeps ragging on about? Where are the hobos fighting over chunks of raw sirloin, or the street urchins giving handjobs for a penny?

In the Depression people sold apples on the street. They sold pencils. Angels with dirty faces wore coats too thin and short and shivered in line at the government surplus warehouse. There was the Dust Bowl, and the want of the cities. Captains of industry are said to have jumped from the skyscrapers of Wall Street. (Yes, those were the good old days. Just kidding!) People didn’t have enough food.

They looked like a catastrophe was happening.

We do not. It’s as if the news is full of floods but we haven’t seen it rain.

“People didn’t have enough food.”

You wonder sometimes if, when Peggy’s writing certain columns, she ever has a nanosecond or two when she realizes, “Oh heavens, my schtick in this instance is not so much enlightening as it is making me sound like an unbelievably vapid, superficial sack of vomit.” Well, Peggy, things will start to “look” much worse, soon, a year or so from now — we’re just getting started now, babe! — when the hobo hordes break into the White House and eat Barack Obama’s brain on live television. In the meantime, if you want to see the “rain,” check out images of the miles-long stretches of abandoned housing developments in such places as California and Nevada. It’s not apples or pencils, but you can’t have everything.

So where is GDII happening? Right now mostly in conversations between wives and husbands, in families and among friends, about selling, about digging in, about layoffs, and not taking chances, and reduced income, and fear.

You’re getting warmer! We’ve bolded some crucial words that you should focus on more. See, Peggy, many average mortals realize that we’re in a bad economy when they “lose lots of money,” unlike you, who will only understand it when 1930s-era hobo anachronisms start showing up on the corner of Park & 79th.


We’ve gotten through roughness before. Of things to be thankful for, I personally include this. I traveled this year, and when I fly I say a prayer that has become a ritual: “Dear God, put your big hands under this plane and lift it up, and carry it forward through the air untouched and unharmed by other objects. And may its inner workings work. And put us down softly in our place of destination, and return us safely to our homes, and to those in whose lives we are enmeshed.”

If you were sitting next to a person on a standard plane ride who was saying these insane things about God, uhh, carrying an airplane to its destination (without dropping it??), how would you react? We’d think, OH HELL NO, the motherfuckers are doing it again, and headlock the obvious Al Qaeda terrorist who was trying to start 9/11 Part II. Enjoy your “GDII” in Gitmo, lady. They won’t be selling apples there, either!

UPDATE: It happened after deadline so you can’t blame Peggy for not factoring it into the three seconds of prep she did for this column, but the Wal-Mart death stampede this morning is, for what it’s worth, a solid 2008 equivalent to the terrible 1930s stereotypes on which she bases economic well-being. Peggy is right when she says “the mall is still there.” But people aren’t at the mall, you see! They’re at Wal-Mart, where people shop on “Black Friday” when they’re poor. And they’re all there, all trying to buy the same limited number of cheap goods. It becomes a race, and they’re willing kill people as collateral damage. And yes, “Everyone’s still overweight,” Peggy, because the unhealthiest foods — usually corn-derived and subsidized by the government — are the cheapest and most readily available in this country, which is a Problem and something you missed in your cutesy aside about squirrels and bears storing up for the “time of great want,” we’re only getting fatter, meaning more innocents will be killed in fatter-footed bargain store stampedes, STFU, goodnight.

Declarations: Turbulence Ahead [WSJ]

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  1. Gobel Reeve would sing it like this:

    “Go to sleep my weary hobo
    Let those towns go driftin’ by
    Hear them lonesome steel rail hummin’
    That’s a hobo’s lullaby”

    “You say reporters cause you trouble
    They make trouble everywhere
    When you die and go to heaven
    You won’t find no reporters there.”

  2. Peggington looks at the quiet before the storm and is surprise that it is quiet. The real weirdness is yet to come.

    My father told me that the strangest thing about Great Depression was that everything stopped even though there had been no war or natural disaster. All the factories were intact, and there were lots of people who wanted jobs, and lots who wanted products, but somehow, this couldn’t be put together in a way that worked.

    Noonington will not notice this weirdness when it happens.

  3. While I suspect it will be no “Taste Treat,” Peggy makes the entire idea of “Eat The Rich” seem more palatable.

    Failing that, we’ll just burn them at the steak.

    (A little pun there at the end. Get it? Huh? “Steak” instead of “stake”?)

    (Maybe I’ve been thinking about Ken’s Magic Mojave Tortoises too much . . . .)

  4. [re=187269]Neilist[/re]: Begging the question, what would our Lady de Noonington taste like?

    My guess is Nicorette and fried pickles. That or whipped bullshit on a Ritz cracker.

  5. Sweet Baby Jesus! Not only are her prayers boring and wordy (and a disturbing combination of twee and ignorance), but she’s too damn lazy to even name-check the book: “Are You There Vodka? It’s Me, Chelsea.”

  6. Like Joe the not-really-a-Plumber pitching digital TV converters, Dame Peggy is eye-droppering her literary drool right into the open mouths of the WSJ demographic. If Antoine-the-Arbitrageur can still get a tank of premium for the E-class and drive home to Short Dick, NJ, without getting murdered by squeegee men, nothing has changed.

  7. Seriously, though: Assuming that the Pegster had to fellate some editor to get her job, does anyone know who that editor is and whether that editor would accept a one-off b.j. from an equally talentless hack who can make you want to upchuck with his maudlin, treacly writing?

    Just wondering.

    Oh look! It’s raining! Tears of angels, I’m sure… thinking, no doubt, of the time god put his hands under a big jet and shoved it right the fuck into the World Trade Center!

  8. When preparing his run for Prez Dubya said that he didn’t know any poor people, he didn’t know what they thought. Is Dame Noonington so far removed from what we working creatures call life that only a Dicksonian idea of street urchins and poor houses comprise her view of life on the bottom? She hears Spanish spoken and thinks the southern horde is taking over. She’s amazed that some unseen hand guides her plane (she in first class) to her next talk show engagement or pundette function. Will it take an actual worldwide depression to ruffle her patrician notion of our favored nation?

  9. Lovely job Jim. Madame de Nooneesnatch has some very ripe notions of The Big Guy upstairs. If one was a Freudian they could have a field day with “big hands… lifting it up…[carrying] it forward through the air untouched and unharmed by other objects.” Not through all those quilted layers of Victorian protection baby.

    Why not add “Heathcliff, oh Heathcliff where art thou? I haz the hyper-vapors!”

  10. Peggy doesn’t understand trickle-down hobonomics. If you hobonify the richest, eventually it will reach the bottom rung. But nooooooo, she wants to spread it all around at once.


  11. “I am thankful for something we’re not seeing.” That must be the editorial “we”.
    You’re not seeing the “something“, me darlin’ dream-writer Pegeen, because you wake up each morning by knocking back a bottle of cherry Sugar-Free Robitussin CF, followe it by a Canadian Club and 7&7 chaser and a call for your nurse to cleanup last night’s sheet-staining vomit (in Pegster’s case, called a first draft).
    Notice the shot of Jack in her left hand:
    “Will you marries me, Mishtar Prezdent?”

  12. What will happen when the hobo army appears in front of her apartment and their faces are clean or they’re not angelic? What if they’re Mexican? What if, instead of selling apples, they’re selling kiwi fruit?
    She will then pray to God that he will lift her up and carry her gently to where Little Orphan Annie is singing to inspire President Obama and all the badness will go away.

  13. street urchins giving handjobs for a penny

    Yeah, you’d have to go into the Lower East Side to see these, and Peggy hasn’t been there since her last cocaine-fueled-orgy (last Friday).

  14. [re=187279]Vanity Smurf[/re]: I think Nicorette would be more of a flavor accent for “Pate de Coulter.” Mixed with a hint of unwashed, month-old pantyhose crotch; a dash of Right Guard spray deodorant; and a touch of Locker Room (amyl nitrate) and dried semen scraped off the floor of the “Men’s” room of Rage in West Hollywood at 4:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning.

    In contrast, Petty Peggy would taste like . . . hmmm . . . stale Longs Drugstore-brand gin strained through the ink-soaked pages of last year’s Nieman Marcus catalog; served lukewarm and straight up, in a tarnished Tiffany’s christening cup bought via Ebay; and garnished with a spring of ivy stolen at midnight from the hallowed walls of her alma mater: Fairleigh Dickinson University of New Jersey.

  15. “Margaret Ellen Noonan” is the third over-the-top make-believe character from the Star Trek universe to have a similar name.

    First came “Khan Noonien Singh”, played to great effect by Ricardo Montalbán on the original series and also in the 2nd film.

    A couple of decades later, we were introduced to “Noonien Soong”, the creator of the android “Data”, in an episode of “Star Trek: The Next Generation”.

    Finally, to meet the fans’ hunger for more trans-galactic fantasy material, “Commander Peggy” was introduced to viewers in the 9th season of ST:WSJ in an episode set on a parallel earth. It was entitled “When Character Was King: A Story of Ronald Reagan”.

  16. [re=187323]Neilist[/re]: I just realized that description will put me off my feed for the next couple of days.

    Good way to get rid of those Thanksgiving pounds.

  17. Jim–you sound bitter.

    If it makes Peggy feel any better, I am poor, and I also dislike being around poor people. They are ignorant. They have bad teeth. They usually want something, or, in the case of my downstairs neighbor, they occasionally want to give me some slightly old food from a mysterious source.

    Rich people are much better–they give me money. & all they want in exchange? Just my labor & my time–it’s not like I could use that for anything I might want to do or anything.

  18. “Noonanism — an embarrassingly insular worldview in which no personal anecdote is void of world-historical spiritual import…”

    funny, i read it as “no onanism”–not that I understand anything Peggy Noonan writes. The only 1000 points of light I ever saw was in a traffic jam coming back from Logan International.

  19. [re=187323]Neilist[/re]: Longs Drugstore-brand gin strained through the ink-soaked pages of last year’s Nieman Marcus catalog

    I yield to your more EXCLUSIVE palette, Sir (or Madame). Although in my defense the Duchess of Noonanshire is known to enjoy a cigarette when off camera.

  20. “In the Depression people sold apples on the street.”
    Noonie (pronounced “noo-nie, not “noon-ie”) was born in 1950. But she has an ultimate grasp of the Great Depression Numero Uno from reading “Mary Worth” and the “Nancy Drew” novels and her repeat viewings of the Depression’s closest Republican simulacrum, “Dallas“.

    And yet we mock one of our contemporary intellectuals, her prose which would make Lewis Carroll’s sound like Emmanuel Kant.
    Just noting.

  21. [re=187340]Vanity Smurf[/re]: Smurf, old bean: Reasonable minds can differ on such inherently subjective matters.

    That said, I think that all of us would agree that, whatever Tang of the Tongue Our Peg might generate, her “full” flavor would remind one of the “Science Project” that develops when one keeps that half-eaten carton of kung pao chicken takeout in the back of the ‘fridge for several months.

    After the cooling motor burns out several weeks into the process.

    Hmmm, Ummmh GOOD.

  22. “this begs so many questions” like
    for instance
    why Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown aren’t really
    getting back together.

    Well my sad is getting greater and greater.

  23. Yeah, I so wish girlfriend would come down to the school where I teach. And bring all her east side or west side or whatever side it is friends with her, too. Come to my Title I middle school in the SUBURBS, honey. Where no matter what’s been going on in the news, I still have too many kids living in a fucking car with mom, where year after year I watch kids squint at the white board because grandma can’t afford glasses, where they move around living with auntie over here, dad over there, older sister in yet another city, then back to mom or granny or whoever wants to deal with them at the time. I wish they’d drop in to one of their apartments, where they live with two other families in a one bedroom crackerbox. With cockroaches. And asthma. Where ignorant assholes continually vote down a branch clinic of the county hospital because they don’t want any of those poor people having actual ACCESS to any healthcare.

    Goddamn. I am having violent thoughts about this woman right now and I don’t even read her asinine articles or whatever she calls them.

  24. Last night my brother-in-law was saying that a jeweler friend of his is having one of his best years ever–people are coming to him to get some, any money for their gold jewelry, which he can give them about 30% of the going price for an ounce, then melt it down and sell it at near market value. The signs are there.

  25. Why can’t you type a paragraph, Sans? And I hope you weren’t being sarcastic. I’m an English teacher. I’ll beat you with my copy of Strunk & White.

  26. [re=187363]badmuthagoose[/re]:
    What Republicans or Libertarians do not what want to accept is that, “There but fortune, go I.” To them everything gained or lost must be a product of personal effort. Social status, upbringing and chance are irrelevant.
    At a wedding I went to, the groom and best man were brothers, identical twins. The best man looked like an NFL linebacker. His brother, the groom, who had been crushed in car accident, looked like a twisted skinny broom.
    Hoping that he would get the point, I told this anecdote to a NeoCon associate of mine. He said, “So?”.

  27. Sans, it’s because so many of us remain stunned that Peggy “Read My Vaginal Lips” Noonan, who purports to target her meandering idiotic comments to people knowledgeable of economic affairs, does not comprehend that people will EXHAUST THEIR FUCKING CASH RESERVES AND CREDIT LINES FIRST BEFORE TAKING TO THE STREETS TO SELL APPLES AND PENCILS! “Please buy this wormy apple, sir, so I don’t have to cash in my 401K.” Pegster, this hole will be wide and deep. And for those who have been asking, she’ll be great with catsup.

  28. I’m impressed by the depth of her knowledge of avionics. It’s as though someone looked over her shoulder while she was randomly tapping on her keyboard and said, “Wow — your anecdotal assessment of this current downturn puts economists to shame.” And she was so pleased by this that she decided to display her expertise in something far afield as the cherry on top of this particular Xanax and Beefeater sundae.

  29. [re=187336]IonaTrailer[/re]: I got caught in one of those mists once on the way home from work. By the time I got to Trader Joe’s I couldn’t remember anything on my shopping list. Then I got shot.

  30. Fuck fat people! I lost >20 pounds eating McDonald’s eating every day for lunch because I learned a little thing called self-control.

    I’m tired of all these fat bastards blaming poverty for being obese. If you can’t afford to eat non-fatty food then eat less of the fatty food. No one is making them eat 3-4 thousand calories a day, just like no one forced them to get knocked up at age 16. Idiocracy indeed.

    Are there no poor houses???

  31. On my street, the urchins can still get 3 cents for a halfway decent hand-job. A shiny nickel if they use their mouths. So I guess they have something to be thankful for!

  32. Academic/boring.

    A. In the Great Depression I, banks lent credit to Wall Street investors well beyond the investors’ cash and well beyond the banks’ cash reserves. It was done on the assumption that stocks would keep climbing. When stocks fell, neither could cover loss. This led to FDR federal legislation requiring that banks stay out of investment lending.
    B. Prior to the Great Depresson II and at the end of the Clinton era, freemaket Clintonians Larry Summers, Paul Rubin, and what’s-his-face Geithner convinced Congress to reverse the restrictions of the FDR era and, under legislation crafted by Phil Gramm, allow banks, mortgage companies, insurers, hedge funds to be unregulated investment companies, no covering reserve required to cover default on invested and sold, packaged, low-quality, subprime mortgages which were traded between and among their selves and on the market. The rest is history. Tra-la-la. Tra-la-lee.

  33. Why is that supposedly educated people like Pegglington can write prose that, while miserably florid and self-congratulatory, is still deemed fine enough to appear in the WSJ, but when god enters the equation her writing/praying becomes not unlike that of a 5-year-old’s rote incantations before bedtime? Her plane prayer is the single dumbest thing ever to come out of her alcohol & prescription drug-enhanced haze. Her magical thinking simply shows that a small-minded and provincial dumbass resides just below the cloying faux-victorian surface of this pea-brained fucktard. She must have pictures of Reagan getting handjobs from altar boys. There is no other explanation for her continued employment.

  34. I am halfway tempted to hire a couple kids to dress up like 1930’s street urchins and hawk apples on the streets near Peggy Noonan’s home, just to see what her article would look like next week.

  35. Hmmmmmm, the Pegster, obviously travels far above the orbit of us mere mortals (cupped in the sweaty palms of our Lord, no doubt) and either doesn’t see the homeless sleeping in doorways and side alleys or simply stopped noticing them ever since her earthly deity, Saint Ronald Reagan, swept into office and redistributed wealth upward to the top 1% of the nation’s income bracket. On Thanksgiving, I passed a few people asleep in doorways on my way to the train, a crowd of people outside of a food bank and then upon my arrival in the city of my destination witnessed more such scenes. Prior to 1980 I don’t recall such scenes, except in places like The Bowery. She simply stopped noticing this, along with the rest of us.

    Of course, Noonington’s sigh of relief, at what passes for normalcy, might be a tad premature. The last few months of the meltdown may be just the beginning. Things could get worse. After all, the stock market crashed in October of 1929 and it took until March of 1933 for the banks to start to fail. That’s three and a half years of ever increasing “cataclysm”. We could yet see the once-mighty captains of commerce plummeting from the sky onto streets filled with an every increasing supply of the poor and homeless. The chickens haven’t even begun to come home to roost.

    And when they do, they’ll arrive in the form of McNuggets. Don’t even get me started on obesity, Milady, we live in an era where it is the rich who can afford to stay thin, while the poor live in junk food ghettos where the food is fast, cheap and nutrionally deadly.

    It’s bad enough to parade one’s obliviousness and smug self-satisfaction in public. But to do so in such a flamboyantly pompous, badly written way is just embarassing. I sincerely hope that I am never stuck on the same flight with Our Lady of the Thousand Points because with my luck, there may just acutally be a God, so disgusted with such idiocy, that he/she/it will grab the belly of the plane and fling it to the ground.

  36. That God carrying the airplane bit is one of the dumbest fucking things that I have ever read. Is this an adult newspaper column or a Sarah Palin Sunday school lesson?

    Any more gobs of saccharine garbage that you’d like to dole out from your infantile mind? Will you tell us next that you think thunder is really the angels bowling in heaven?

  37. [re=187434]Anonymous Office Zombie[/re]: Any more gobs of saccharine garbage that you’d like to dole out from your infantile mind?
    Every time a 13-year-old Somalian girl is raped and then stoned to death for adultery, an angel gets its wings?

  38. I so happy Wonkette summarizes this for me. Reading the real thing makes me sick. The WSJ has moved so low-brow since Murdoch took over and made it into a tabloid.

    Long live the FT!

  39. Don’t give our Peggington Noonington such shrill and frightful time, lads.

    I, too, personally offer up a prayer to the big-handed-airplane God each time I board a 767 or plebian Dash-8.

    I also offer up a prayer to the big-handed-Camry God every time I drive my kids to school, and offer up a prayer to the big-handed-bicycle god when I take my exercise ride at my hour of luncheon break, and offer up a prayer to the big-handed-running shoe God when I strap on my yeoman Nikes and decide to stroll about mine verdant environs.

  40. The Creator did place His (Her?) hands under the wings of last flight but, Queen Peggy, why did those same hands send my luggage to Cleveland when they should have gone to Phoenix?

  41. It seems Peggy’s not alone in demanding assistance of Santa-Jesus-YHWH for every little thing — the entire state of Kentucky relies on him for protection from terrorists:

    Kentucky State Rep. Tom Riner, a Southern Baptist minister who helped establish a requirement that the federally funded agency credit God with keeping the state safe, is upset that under Gov. Steve Beshear, the department’s 2008 annual report did not do so.

    One consolation to this horrible oversight will be that if al-Qaida attacks Louisville, it won’t be the fault of abortionists, atheists and lesbians.

  42. I take it that La Nooner has not glanced upon any foreclosed villas on the Heights of Peggington nor any shut small businesses in that lovely fairytale land where she dwelleth.

  43. I began growing my hobo beard the day Lehman Bros. tanked. It is now somewhere between a Krugman and a Ken Layne. Soon it shall be a Santa Claus; with hobo beans attached and chicory coffee stains.

    I will present it to you personally, Peggy. Please send your car around.

  44. “I ever so hope that the Lord God shall continue to carry our aeroplanes to safety in his hands, and not hurl them at our tallest and largest buildings in Anger as He did on that 9/11est of days…”

  45. [re=187468]Lascauxcaveman[/re]: I found out last year that the god of my bicycle was much less powerful than the god of the cell-phone-talking, left-turn-making Camry that flattened me.

  46. I just read it.

    Oh my God.
    Oh my God.
    Oh my…Oh.

    Oh my God.

    Well. At least she’s still flying and buying fruit.
    And. Something else positive.
    Um. Let’s see.

    She goes outside and walks around?

  47. I wish Peggy would take a trip up to Manchester, NH. I left communist-ground-zero here in Boston to spread teh Hopey’s message of redemption up there a couple of times this fall. The economic policies of the last thirty years — especially the last eight — have turned the city into a ghost town.

    You walk through neighborhoods where one out of every three houses still has a fresh eviction notice on the door; recently cut lawns disturbingly telling a tale of families who packed up shop within the last few months.

    Come on Peggy. It’s only a couple hours drive from New York. You wouldn’t even have to say your flying prayer, or whatever.

  48. [re=187551]Hans the Brinker[/re]: That’s what offended me. The “graphic” with this story was pretty bizarre. Also, note God is not carrying the airplane, but waiting to catch it should it fall. As to the text, I guess she was a great speechwriter…once.

  49. [re=187331]Crow T. Robot[/re]: Dude, you hit upon a soft spot here. WTF is up with the old people in my apartment building constantly offering me bad food? Is this some sort of senior citizen joke?

    Keep me updated.

  50. [re=187544]Sans the Diaper[/re]: I didn’t even read it until I saw your comment, as Jim gave us plenty to work with here and I didn’t feel inclined to delve into her whole meandering stream of Noonanity. But the illustration is just precious (if anyone here hasn’t checked it out, it’s worth a look). Far from protecting and carrying the airplane, the shadowy hands appear about to squash it like a mosquito.
    Also, Noonan didn’t give thanks for any of the hot college Republican tail she got on her book tour? Come on — everybody knows writers do it like bunnies.

  51. Oh, dear — the cavalcade of asswipery continues at The Weekly Standard where William Kristol continues his streak of horrible advice by suggesting Bush should make clear how effective his extra-Constitutional measures have been in the War on Terra. The wrongest sentence in the whole piece is this:

    It would also force a rethinking, by those capable of rethinking, of the cheap and easy demagoguing on issues like Guantánamo and eavesdropping.

    Because, you know, nobody in the present administration ever (ugh) demagoged criminal acts by saying anyone who complained about them wanted the terrorists to win, or wanted to give the terrorists therapy, or was going to be responsible if we got hit again.

    Anyway, if you find the digestion process going all too comfortably, it’s worth a look-see.

  52. God Bless Peggy…! Not that I need a reason to drink, but still…! And her fine insightfulness into the world of alcohol-induced distraction from reality is a clear rose-petal strewn road for us all… No homelessness, no re-used cigarette butts, and God’s hands under every prayer…. I really do have to weep for joy…. I think that’s joy… maybe I’m just out of Myers…..

  53. There literally are homeless men on street corners at my offramp every day now. Started coming out about a month ago. Used to be one guy, now like four. Fuck you Peggy.

  54. I have a problem with this article:

    It has some interesting points, but the author’s POV is that an economic depression is a remote possibility rather than a reality. Many of the scenarios described in the article are playing out now. Don’t know what planet Peggy is living on…… husband was unemployed last year for 7 months, we’re still trying to dig ourselves out of that hole.

  55. “everything looks the same as it did three years ago, at the height of prosperity.” Um, WTF? Maybe if prosperity equals loading up on oxycodone prescriptions from different doctors.

  56. Remember that Okie Senator, Inoverhishead or something, who scoffed while Gore was testifying his patented Global Warning. Why, lookahere, you see them pitchers of snows in New Yawk in the papers? That look warm to you?

  57. [re=187425]Godot[/re]: Or wait ’til she goes for a walk through Central Park and hire kids to start eating the grass on the ground, Irish famine-style.

    This was a very fine blog, Jim Newell. You are good at this.

  58. “And may its inner workings work. And put us down softly in our place of destination,…”
    That prayer loses so much in the translation from Vulcan.

  59. [re=187286]Weeping Jesus[/re]: Excellence in commenting.
    Sad old Pegs, which mall does she attend? Has she ever been to the Poor Mall where the anchor stores are missing and you can walk from end to end with nothing to see or buy? No?
    A clue for you Peggy, don’t buy gift cards for Circut City, Bombay Company,Sharper Image, Lowes, Macy’s,The Gap, Home Depot,Lane Bryant,Zales, K B Toys,Disney,Wilson Leather,Linens and Things, Eddie Bauer,Footlocker,Cache,Pacific Sunwear,Movie Gallery,Levitz,Whitehall,J.Jill, Ann Taylor, and Talbots or any fucking place at all because they are either closing stores at the end of December or the first of January or they are already bankrupt.
    Yes, Pegs, Talbots. I’m crying for you, really.

  60. The relative incidence of discount store employees getting stomped to death by rabid local fatties in search of a flat screen teevee is now known as Wal-Mortality. You can expect that metric to rise in the coming weeks. PS, the clientele was further pissed when the store was closed out of respect for the crushed employee under the front door before bargains such as the animated musical Jesus lawn figurine with optional manger was rung up. And it was a 50% off door buster! Signs up tomorrow morning: Walmart. Savings to Die For!

  61. The really sad thing is that there are actually let-them-eat cake Noonan fans reading her article from the top tiers of their 5th ave condos; sagely nodding and agreeing..
    I say we round up about 300 or so homeless from under the bridges from whereth they hideth and march them to Miz Noonan penthouse for a tour.

  62. Y’know what I don’t see much of? Wall St Journal circulation. Peggy’s a helluva lot closer to the breadline than a writer for the Daily Show, I’ll tellya that.

  63. well I’ve been lurking for a while but this post finally got me to whaddayacallit?: “create an avatar.” This is the kind of post I look forward to on wonkette. plus dick jokes.

  64. M’Lady Nooner scanned the surrounds with field glasses from her tower whilst enjoying a pre-constitutional cigarette and spied what could only be the fabled “Mexican”, a worthy addition to her life list. Sadly unconfirmed, the fleeting glimpse was of a smaller, swarthier version of its cousin, the PR. If only the speciman had been plagued by the obesity epidemic; a carrier, no doubt.

    Yet and still, her Pegginess managed to free herself from the media and go “outside” for a “walk”, wrapped in that delicious admixture of alert expectation and dread, praying for the mighty hands of God to vouchsafe her sanctity against the predations of the object of her mad quest, the elusive mestizo.

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