‘Puter believes the Washington Post’s E.J. Dionne to be the least intellectually curious, most embarrassingly partisan opinion columnist writing today, bar none. Yes, bar none, including but not limited to crass, foul-mouthed New York Times “treasure” Maureen Dowd.
To deride Mr. Dionne as a fluffer is an insult to fluffers everywhere. Mr. Dionne is so shameless in his Obama puffery he makes the nakedly pro-Obama press corps slatterns look like, well, like impartial reporters of fact.
Mr. Dionne writes the following in his piece published today. If you’ve recently eaten lunch, you may want to let your food settle first.
He’s an anti-ideological leader in an ideological age, a middle-of-the-road liberal skeptical of the demands placed on a movement leader, a politician often disdainful of the tasks that politics asks him to perform. He wants to invite the nation to reason together with him when nearly half the country thinks his premises and theirs are utterly at odds. Doing so is unlikely to get any easier.
‘Puter’s readers are likely baffled as to whom Mr. Dionne refers. Hold on to your partially digested Taco Bell Meximelts, boys and girls. Mr. Obama is the “anti-ideological” “middle-of-the-road liberal” to whom Mr. Dionne refers.
In Mr. Dionne’s world, Mr. Obama is Caspar Milquetoast, a plain and unadventurous man, too timid and indecisive for his own good. In the world everyone except Mr. Dionne inhabits, Mr. Obama is an unrepentant, bare-knuckled ideologue content to bring down the full weight of government on his political opposites.
Want to start a 501(c)(4) political opposition group? Mr. Obama’s IRS (not to mention the FBI, OSHA and EPA) would like to have a few words with you. You won’t be getting the next three years of your life back.
Want to write an expose of Mr. Obama’s foreign relations shenanigans? Mr. Obama’s lapdog Attorney General Eric Holder is happy to illegally subpoena your phone records, and those of your parents, acquaintances and Senior Prom date as well.
Perhaps you’re a whistleblower with inside information about Mr. Obama’s refusal to defend an American consulate overseas. Think again, mon frère. You’re about to be demoted and harassed for the remainder of your life or Obama’s Administration, whichever shall first occur.
Mr. Dionne is an embarrassment to rational, sane opinion journalists, no matter their political persuasion. It is one thing to disagree on interpretation of the facts, forcefully advocating one’s preferred policy. It is quite another matter to refuse to accept facts even the most liberal opinion journalists take as given, weaving an unbelievable narrative from “facts” one invents from one’s warped reality.
Responsible liberal opinion journalists should shun Mr. Dionne like Lindsay Lohan shuns sobriety, lest they lose shred of credibility they have left.
Always right, unless he isn’t, the infallible Ghettoputer F. X. Gormogons claims to be an in-law of the Volgi, although no one really believes this.
’Puter carefully follows economic and financial trends, legal affairs, and serves as the Gormogons’ financial and legal advisor. He successfully defended us against a lawsuit from a liquor distributor worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid deliveries of bootleg shandies.
The Geep has an IQ so high it is untestable and attempts to measure it have resulted in dangerously unstable results as well as injuries to researchers. Coincidentally, he publishes intelligence tests as a side gig.
His sarcasm is so highly developed it borders on the psychic, and he is often able to insult a person even before meeting them. ’Puter enjoys hunting small game with 000 slugs and punt guns, correcting homilies in real time at Mass, and undermining unions. ’Puter likes to wear a hockey mask and carry an axe into public campgrounds, where he bursts into people’s tents and screams. As you might expect, he has been shot several times but remains completely undeterred.
He assures us that his obsessive fawning over news stories involving women teachers sleeping with young students is not Freudian in any way, although he admits something similar once happened to him. Uniquely, ’Puter is unable to speak, read, or write Russian, but he is able to sing it fluently.
Geep joined the order in the mid-1980s. He arrived at the Castle door with dozens of steamer trunks and an inarticulate hissing creature of astonishingly low intelligence he calls “Sleestak.” Ghettoputer appears to make his wishes known to Sleestak, although no one is sure whether this is the result of complex sign language, expert body posture reading, or simply beating Sleestak with a rubber mallet.
‘Puter suggests the Czar suck it.