The Mallet of Understanding

Wielding the tools of cluelessness correction with a compassionate and well manicured hand.

Saturday, February 26, 2005

A bit of poetic justice from the Eddas

Darlings,

Sometimes Cluella Fey declines to deliver clues to the truly despicable out of a desire for personal safety. I'd rather roll naked in crushed glass and rusty thumb-tacks and then jump in a swimming pool of lemon juice than get close enough to make a delivery to that radioactive, chienne afghane rabique, Ann Coulter. It's all I can do to don my lead suit and read her vitriolic writing. I was struck by something she said in an article about James Guckert recently:

Press passes can't be that hard to come by if the White House allows that dyspeptic, old Helen Thomas to sit within yards of the president.


Never mind the absurdity of this sentence as logic for accusing Maureen Dowd of lying. In true form, she attacks instead of giving facts.

So who is this "dyspeptic, old" Helen Thomas? She's a reporter who's been covering the White house for 44 years. She upholds the ethics of journalism while challenging the status quo. And as far as I can tell, there are no genuine nude images of her on the "internets".

What Ann forgets is that 44 years of watching politics in the White House will make any rational human morose. Ann certainly doesn't have any room to talk, for that matter. After all, she was recently quoted saying that telling people on the street in New york city "Merry Christmas" is like saying "f*ck you".

And so, gentle readers, *Moi* has decided to leave Le Chienne to my good friend Elli. If you're not familiar, Elli was Utgard-Loki's nurse, and beat Thor to his knees in wrestling. Elli is old age.

I simply hope to see Elli take her quiet toll on Le Chienne. Some day Ann will be old and withered. She's already got a head start on dyspepsia. And when that day arrives, my dears, *moi* shall indulge freely and gleefully in blissful schadenfreude.