Regular readers of Cautious Optimism know that I’ve had a little fun at Elizabeth Warren’s expense over the last year or so. I just went back through my archives and found that in a column dated last December 1st, I cited the story of Warren’s hilarious Pow Wow Chow cookbook – infamous for including two supposedly quintessential Oklahoman dishes that included the decidedly-not-indigenous-to-Oklahoma crab.
After a few more columns featuring jokes about the Geronimo in Granny Glasses, I started the #wemustneverstopmockingher references, undeterred by the fact that I wasn’t sure what “hashtag” actually meant. And a trend was born.
Recently, however, I had started thinking about the inevitable: I would one day run out of Warren jokes, and my string of Warren mockery would come to an end.
Little did I know that the string would end in the most glorious way possible: in an incredible – and incredibly hilarious – act of unintentional self-immolation by the albino Apache herself.
Obviously, Trump was living in her empty, blonde head rent-free, or she never would have taken a DNA test in such a transparently desperate move to establish her Cherokee bona fides in the first place. But once she took the test and found out that she is overwhelmingly white, the only rational path was obvious: swear the DNA tester to secrecy, destroy the results and start screaming about misogyny, or any other non-Indian-related bogus leftist talking point.
But no one has ever accused recent Democratic presidential contenders of being slaves to rationality.
So Warren compounded the problem. She poured gasoline on the fire, steered into the skid, and made a terrible-PR mountain out of an embarrassing genetic molehill.
She produced a campaign-ad style video during which she talked to various members of the Warren family about how the old folks all used to wax poetic about their Indian ancestry. If you’ve seen that video, you may have noticed something about the people in it: every last one of them is incredibly white.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I mean, unless you are a Democrat who wants to be president.
Anyway, she managed to act smug as the DNA tester confirmed that she does indeed have “some” Indian ancestry. If by “some,” you mean “the same ratio as I have of stellar dust from ancient comet strikes in my backyard, as compared to regular old earth-dirt.” And I’d expect all of my neighbors to mock me if I started calling my backyard “the Lawn of Tranquility.”
Of course the sweetest irony comes from knowing that Lizzie could only have thought that she’d get away with such a laughable claim if she knew that the dishonest MSM would cover for her.
And for about half a day, they tried, coming out with multiple variations of headlines touting “the strong proof” that her DNA test gave to her claims of uber-Cherokee-osity.
But within minutes, people who can do math started to point out that she is likely somewhere around 99.9% white, along with several other fun facts. Such as that she likely has many more times as much DNA from at least one white male ancestor who helped round up the Cherokee for the Trail of Tears. (Cue the sad trombone/peacepipe.)
And that the average white American has something like 8 times as much Indian DNA as Liz has. Despite the fact that, according to extensive research that I just now completed, most of them have never contributed even ONE recipe to Pow Wow Chow! You can look it up.
And that’s not all of the crab bisque that Lizzie now has on her face. Because she hadn’t just been claiming that some distant ancestor 6 to 10 generations back was a Cherokee. She was claiming that her own mother was so obviously Indian that her grandparents wouldn’t accept her into their family, so her parents had to elope.
During my afore-mentioned research, I covered the back of an envelope with my own mathematical calculations, and I’ve arrived at the following conclusion: Liz’s mom was not 6 to 10 generations back. She was roughly one generation back.
So at most, one of that woman’s grandparents’ grandparents’ parent MIGHT have been at least part Indian. At worst, one of THAT person’s grandparents’ grandparent MIGHT have been an Indian.
But since the DNA test actually used DNA samples taken from central and south Americans, that magical Indian ancestor may have actually been a Brazilian snake-wrangler, or a syphilitic conquistador, or an alcoholic member of the lesser Spanish nobility who was forced to go to the New World to try to dry out, and also because his continually passing out in the soup bowl was proving embarrassing to King Ferdinand.
And yes, there is as much scientific evidence to support the syphilitic,snake-wrangling,hard-drinking dinner-disruptor theory as there is to support the “I’m-a-blue-eyed-Delaware-Cherokee” theory of Elizabeth Warren.
But the Mendacious Mohawk was not ready to give up yet. In a post-disaster interview she said that she released the DNA results because, and I quote, “I am an open book.”
Yes. And that book is called The White Pages.
She also fell back on the oldest of ploys used by people who have made some issue all about themselves. She said, “This isn’t about me.”
No, it isn’t. It’s about your ancestors. Your very, very, VERY white ancestors.
She also said that she released the results because, “I see now that confidence in government is at an all-time low. And I believe that one way we try to rebuild confidence is through transparency.”
Even better than that, in your case: translucency!
And so, I tip my hat to you, Elizabeth Warren. After I have done my best for almost a year to mock you at every turn, you have put my feeble mockery to shame with your own towering act of self-be-clownery.
I am tempted to say that this whole charade boomeranged on you. But I have too much respect for the aboriginal people who invented the boomerang to engage in such a gross act of cultural appropriation.
So I will just say, “Liar, liar, deerskin dress on fire.”
Now please tell me where I can go to contribute to your 2020 presidential campaign.
Martin Simpson 