Wonkette

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. MORE »

This weird and wonderful year has been packed with implausibilities and impossibilities: the Clintons losing, a black man elected president and Peggy Noonan occassionally making sense. This week’s installment of her serialized first-person novel of Manhattan Madness, Declarations, contains two well-written arguments for the current conventional wisdom — Hillary is an interesting yet troublesome choice for Secretary of State, and Robert Gates should stay on for a while as Secretary of Defense. Which is nice and all, but it doesn’t really leave your Wonkette much to work with. Luckily, Peggy was just coming down from her Dexedrine-Percocet highball when she scrawled her first zany sentence, in Lancome mascara, on the walls of her Upper East Side apartment. MORE »

There’s really only one sentence in Lady Peggy Noonington de Rothschild’s Wall Street Journal column today worth reading, but it is, as les Française would say, un crescendo magnifique. (PSST: WE DON’T KNOW THE FROG WORD FOR “CRESCENDO.”) Allez: “The phrase I often worriedly think of when I see, on television, gross violence, cruelty, a vulgarity of character, erectile dysfunction ads, news reports that reflect a mean and cynical attitude toward America, and still-menacing if increasingly antique rappers is: The children are watching.” It is these problems five that our beloved frau hopes to see vanquished under the princely young president Africanus, whom the children frequently view on the television machine. [WSJ]

In last week’s installment of “Wonkette posts about Peggy Noonan’s Wall Street Journal column,” your editor Ken Layne did 100 kilos of coke and proceeded to comically insult everyone on the face of the Earth for two or seven million words. If Madam Peggington had chanced by Ken’s post, probably via that “Google Alert” on her name that her loyal butler Winston set up for her, the vulgarities would quite veritably indeed have inflamed her rheumatism! But Peggy has survived another week, another seven-day of the political news, so let us study the elegant paragraphery in today’s dramatic episode of “Declarations.” MORE »

Oh, it’s “Peggy Day,” meaning Friday, the blessed weekly occurrence of Peggy Noonan’s myriad declarations on the sepia-toned pages of the Wall Street Journal. Your morning editor took a whack at this earlier today, and gave up — “I am not old enuff to understand Peggy Noonan’s cultural references,” she said, lazily. Your afternoon editor also abstained. “You should write about Peggy Noonan,” he whines. “I can’t handle her. I don’t have any speed.” Oh what’s the matter little diaper babies? Did Peggy’s terrifying schizophrenia blow your little pussy minds? MORE »

There’s a crazy long profile of our favorite column-writer-of, Peggy Noonan, in today’s Women’s Wear Daily (which is, for some reason, a political newspaper in New York). We read the whole thing and thrilled to the details of Peggy’s World and her weird e-mails and the real reason she loves Obama so much, but it’s super long and you won’t ever read it all, so we’ve created a handy bullet-point list of factoids! MORE »

Our girlfriend Peggy Noonan has been more enjoyable than usual this year, as a tragically drawn-out Democratic primary battle provided her with endless opportunities to touch herself while Barack Obama spoke pretty things, and to then guiltily wash her hands and realize that Obama was, in fact, the Democrat and not Ronald Reagan and, indeed, kind of “multicultural,” if you get our drift. But all that tortured eloquence has vanished from Peggy’s column, because the oxycontin/vodka cocktail hit hard as soon as she finished typing the relatively sane setup of today’s “Declarations.” MORE »