I was running a 104-degree fever yesterday, or maybe I was just drunk, because there’s no other explanation for the horrible dream I had where HBO decided to goose Big Love‘s ratings by replacing Bill Paxton’s wives with Mary Katharine Ham, Michelle Malkin, and Pamela Oshry Geller Coughlin Kissinger Liefeld.

Above: “Here I have Pelosi’s thumb, wrecked as homeward she did come.”
The three witches are imperfect speakers indeed, and yet we must charge them speak:
Mary Kate wants us to know that one shouldn’t judge an heiress by her criminal record or distracted-seeming, poor-quality blow jobs. I’m currently under a federal injunction that prevents me from writing anything about Paris Hilton, but I do highly recommend the article, in which the Ham Sandwich defends her claim to be “morally opposed to the death tax” by citing examples of many fine, upstanding professional descendants that “reflect well on the stock from which they sprung” and thus should be spared the horribly un-American indignity of having to pay taxes on their vast and unearned incomes. Such as, you ask? Well, such as…uh…Donald Trump.
No, really. That’s her first example. That’s her right-out-of-the-box paragon of decency, her primary argument that not all people of inherited wealth are vulgar, hopeless buffoons. Donald Trump. The man who almost single-handedly ruined New York for two decades. The man better known for his bad rug than any business deal he ever made. The man whose one major contribution to civic life has been an aggressive campaign to wipe out hot dog vendors. That guy.
But wait, she’s got more if for some reason you don’t like Donald Mayonnaise! There’s failed presidential candidate Steve “I Only Ever Had One Idea” Forbes, who claims that “passing down money” is no different than “passing down intelligence” and thus proves that he knows as much about genetics as he does economics. There’s Bill Ford, who did such a great job of running his family’s company into the ground. There’s cheap vintner Brooks Firestone, who’s leaving his own brand of anti-environmentalism as a legacy to California. There’s Georgina Bloomberg, who has turned her love of riding expensive horses into a charity that lets other people ride expensive horses, if they’re crippled or retards or something. There’s not-at-all-gay TV show host Anderson Cooper. And there’s Jay Rockefeller, who may be a liberal Democrat, but on the other hand, he’s super rich, so how bad could he be?
“Pluck, work, labor, trouble,” signs off Mary Kate, citing four things that none of these people have ever been forced to have, do, attempt, or encounter. Therein lies a valuable lesson for crazy people the world wide.
Over at Atlas’ impregnable Strong Island party barn, Crazy Pammy dispenses another valuable lesson: it is very, very easy to miss the point of things when you are an idiot. She cites ACLU criticism of an FBI terrorist watch list which contains over 500,000 names as clear evidence that liberals just don’t get it when it comes to Muslamofascunism. A different, smarter person might read the very same article and think “Wow, a list of half a million terror suspects, none of whom have done anything worth arresting them over — how useful can it possibly be?” But Pammy, blessed with the superior wisdom possessed only by the ignorant, the senile, and certain very stupid breeds of dog, takes it to mean that there are, in fact, at least half a million Islamic terrorists in the US and that, if anything, we’re not worrying about them enough.
Finally, speaking of worry, when I saw this post over at Hot Air, I was deathly afraid that I was going to have to hear Michelle Malkin sing.
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