It has long been whispered in Washington wine bars and Jazzercise studios that Maureen Bridgid Dowd is the heiress to the tradition of the great bards of old, those who sang their lusty story-songs ‘neath the Maypole at Beltane and o’er the bonfires below Tara at Midsummer. In her Sunday column, she turns her ageless eye upon AmeriKKKa’s Hero With A Thousand Lawsuits, Christine O’Donnell.
Were you aware, for example, that Christine O’Donnell is a high priestess of the Dork Mysteries? During a night of orgasmless slumber, she oft dreams of herself dressed as Liv Tyler or Miranda Otto. But mostly Miranda Otto.
The pretty Palin Mini-Me identifies with the women of Middle Earth, comparing herself to the female characters in the Lord of the Rings novels by J. R. R. Tolkien.
“Look at the significance that he gives to Eowyn, the Lady of Rohan,” O’Donnell said on C-Span in 2003. “She was a warrior spirit and, to me, that’s who I love. I mean, I aspire to be soft and gentle like Arwen, but realistically, I’m a fighter, like Eowyn.”
This is all very interesting and good for laffs, because Christine O’Donnell is a very goofy person and this amuses us. But the uninterrupted op-ed narrative thread has gone on for too long, hasn’t it? Maureen, where is your abrupt, awkward shift into whining that Everything is All Barack Obama’s Fault? Oh, here we are, a few paragraphs down. Thank goodness! We thought you’d forgotten your patented formula whilst dreaming of the Shire.
Obama’s bloodless rationality has helped spawn the right’s bloodletting of irrationality. His ivory tower approach to the nation’s fears and anxieties about the economy gave rise to a tower of angry babble. Tea Party is basically a big tent for anger.
The Tea Party and Christine O’Donnell are Obama’s fault, did you know? Because he is Smart. Not because he is Black and they are doofus worshipers at the flickering picture-box with the Glenn Beck making the talky-noises ’bout the Sky God what done rose from the zombie dead, on the Egg Festival.
Then, of course, there is more blathering about how Obama is wrong, about everything, followed by this exquisite final line:
And Obama can go to Ben’s Chili Bowl for lunch every day and it won’t matter.
Thank you, Maureen Dowd, for taking whatever prescription pills made that final line seem like a sensible final flourish to your usual clumsily bifurcated chunk of Op-Ed vomit. You have tossed us a word salad of mythic proportions and we, your tiny hobbit-servants, bow our heads in gratitude. [New York Times]