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This debate had Miss Peggy giddy, GIDDY, WE TELL YOU!

He was not her usual bodega guy, the one who was already ringing up a new box of Mylanta the moment he saw her weaving her way across Third Avenue after a heavy night spent downing bar nuts and Bourbon Cobblers. This new counterman was unfamiliar with the pre-debate rituals of one Peggy Noonan, sister in good standing of the Order of Methaqualone Stupors. So he deserved the resulting disdain when he said he hoped she wasn’t planning a presidential debate drinking game to facilitate the consumption of her purchases. At least not if she wanted to keep her liver from fleeing to Bolivia. Her noble and icy stare caused him to stop mid-sentence, a thin line of drool descending from his lip in his panic, and hurriedly make change from the two crisp portraits of Benjamin Franklin she shoved at him.

She gathered up her things and left the bodega, irritated for the hundredth time that day about the outbreak of Legionnaires’ Disease in the Bronx that had Manuel hooked up to a respirator in Montefiore and not here, tending to her debate preparation with the attention to detail of Steve Erdedy. Tonight was a big night, when her beloved Republican Party would begin the arduous process of snatching the White House from the claws of that shrill harridan Hillary Clinton and restoring order to America. And she would be there to fawn over the buffet of choices to succeed the terrible Moor occupying the Oval Office.

The reliably on-point and interesting Carly Fiorina has been declared the overwhelming winner. That surprised me because I’ve seen her better, including this past weekend at the Koch donors seminars in California, where to some she was a revelation.

The way Mrs. Fiorina spouted talking points she had cribbed from reading nothing but National Review headlines was truly something to behold.

A political operative emailed me: “He just gave [a rude gesture] to the RNC.”

Heavens, do not tell anyone what that rude gesture was! This is a family political column! Children might read it!

Mr. Trump’s fiery clash with Megyn Kelly, after she challenged him on crude things he has said about women, did not work in his favor. He was boorish and ungentlemanly. Yes, I know that sounds quaint. The things he was accused of saying, which he didn’t deny, were ugly. However, the moment yielded probably the most memorable line of the evening: “Only Rosie O’Donnell.”

Ha ha, Rosie is a liberal, outspoken Hollywood lesbian, so it is okay to elevate this crack to the exalted status of “You’re no John Kennedy” because everyone knows what Republicans think of those people. Megyn Kelly, on the other hand, is a proper conservative woman who knows that Santa Claus is white, and therefore she is more worthy of respect.

Marco Rubio was fresh, crisp and poised. [Ed. Note: We’re pretty sure this is the point where Ms. Noonan’s Klonopin had kicked in.] Hillary Clinton, he said, won’t be able to lecture him on living paycheck to paycheck because “I was raised paycheck to paycheck.”

She needed an example of Hillary Clinton “lecturing” about living paycheck to paycheck and not “expressing empathy for” people who have to do so. She made a quick note to tell the syphilitic howler monkey employed as a researcher for the Wall Street Journal editorial page to look that up before her column was locked.

Mr. Paul accused Mr. Christie of taking President Obama’s side: “I know you gave him a big hug.” Mr. Christie was quick: “The hugs that I remember are the hugs that I gave to the families,” after 9/11. It was a fabulous cheap shot followed by excellent special pleading. Bravo for first-class fisticuffs.

Bully! It was a first-class sort of fight not seen since Battling Siki was taking on all comers in the rings of Europe. Bravo to these spirited chaps for appropriating the survivors of Hurricane Sandy and 9/11 for the purpose of taking cheap shots in a political debate!

Mr. Bush achieved adequacy.

Words that will be carved on the man’s tombstone.

Anyway, it was alive. I wonder if Hillary Clinton is wondering how she can look alive.

Step one: Stay away from Peggy Noonan.

[WSJ]

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