2018: A Look Back, Part 1 (posted 1/15/19)


As another year has come to an end, I want to continue the tradition that I began last year, of doing a Dave Barry-esque look back at my favorite moments of the past year, as I commented on them in various columns.  Especially since CO’s site has continued to grow – over 23,000 followers now, and counting! — I know that many of you may not have caught these musings the first time around.  For those of you who did, I hope they bring back fond memories of mockery from days of yore.

So I give you “2018 Retrospecticus, Part 1: January – April”

2018 started on a high note, with me making a resolution to be more patient with people who disagree with me.

That resolution lasted until January 16th, when a gaggle of reporters – and those mopes really put the “gag” in gaggle – interrogated Trump’s doctor for an hour.  The president had taken a physical along with a mental acuity test, and I wrote about the resulting press conference:

“The travesty started with the doc stating that Trump’s health is “excellent” and that he has “no mental or cognitive issue whatsoever.”  For a normal bunch of humans, that would elicit a “no story here” reaction, followed by a few perfunctory follow-up questions (“How about that cholesterol, though?”) and an early break for lunch.

But for this bunch of hacks, it was the opening salvo to a 21-gun salute of stupid.

They spent an hour asking variations on the same few questions (“But he might be crazy, right?” “Can you definitively rule out that he’s nuts?” “How many chicken nuggets is Trump short of a Happy Meal?” “But what about the dozens of leftist hack ‘doctors’ who have diagnosed Trump as a paranoid schizophrenic without ever having been in a room with him?)

The “mental acuity” test was a highlight of the circus.  The reporters thought it was a trap they were going to spring on Trump, but it turned out to be a rake that kept whapping them in their empty, coconut skulls.

Usually, I’m very content with my lot in life.  I married up, I’ve got two world-class daughters, I’ve got a good career and a small real estate empire, and the strength of 10 men, because my heart is pure.  My mental acuity is off the charts, and I own a dog who is the envy of the entire canine community.

But I think I would give all of my earthly possessions to have been in that doctor’s place at that press conference:

Reporter: “Why did you give him a mental acuity test in the first place?  Were you worried about that?”

Doctor Me: “Thanks for that inane question, you dolt.  Actually, he asked to be given that test.”

Reporter: “Is that because he is worried about his mental acuity?”

Me: “No.  It’s because he knows that a bunch of you soul-less hacks have been smearing him as mentally unfit.”

Reporter: “So how did he do?”

Me: “He got a 30.”

Reporter (beside himself with glee): “30%?!  That’s awful!”

Me: “Not 30%, you moron.  30 out of 30.  Put your shoes back on, Acosta – that’s 100%.”

Reporter:  “But this test doesn’t mean that he’s psychologically healthy, necessarily.  It only measures acuity, right?”

Me: “You can’t even spell ‘acuity,’ can you?”

Reporter:  “A – Q –”

Me (slapping my forehead):  “Idiots.”

Reporter: “Hey!  These are legitimate questions.  The people have a right to know about their leaders’ health!  We’re just doing our jobs!”

Me: “Like when you ignored Hillary Clinton’s bi-weekly near-death experiences during the campaign?  She had to wear Coke-bottle Mr. Magoo glasses for a while to help prevent seizures, and you never mentioned it.  She collapsed into the side of a limo like the sniper victim in Saving Private Ryan, and you ignored it.”

Reporter: “That wasn’t—”

Me: “During every other speech she went on a coughing jag like a chain-smoking octogenarian in a TB ward!  Nancy Pelosi slurs her speech like Chelsea Handler on the last night of Mardi Gras, and Frederica Wilson’s hat collection is clear prima facie evidence that she’s clinically insane!  And you’ve never asked any questions about any of them, have you?”

Reporter: “But—”

Me: “Shut up.  We’ve administered that same mental acuity test to some of the congressional Democrats.  Would you like to know how they scored?”

Reporter (in a wee, small voice): “no.”

Me (flourishing a print-out):  “Chuck Schumer got half a point.”  (looking over my glasses at the reporters)  “You get one point for spelling your name correctly.”

Reporters: “I don’t think we—”

Me: “The rest of the Democrat leadership scores didn’t make any sense to us, so we consulted a variety of experts.  Finally, a zoologist recognized that their calibrated scores were equivalent to those of several animal species.”

Reporters: “Oh, come on!”

Me: “According to these results, Elizabeth Warren has the mental acuity of a platypus.  And not the brightest platypus, either.  Fourth quintile platypus at best.  The kind of platypus that – if platypi had developed a tiered university system – would be trying to get her gen ed requirements out of the way at a community college with the hope of transferring to a weak state school.   Also, little known fact: the platypus is not a Native American species, even though the slower ones pretend that they are.”  (We must never stop mocking Elizabeth Warren.)

Reporters: “We don’t see what this has to do with—”

Me: “Nancy Pelosi?” (pause for effect)  “Third quintile racoon.”  (uncomfortable murmuring in the room)  “Dick Durbin?”  (no one will meet my eyes)  “Second quintile marmoset.”

Reporters: “What’s a—”

Me: “We had to re-test Frederica Wilson twice, before someone found a botanist who confirmed that she has the acuity of an unspecified deciduous tree.”

Reporters (after a long, shamed silence): “But still, what about Trump’s weight?  That’s not good, is it?”

Me: “That’s it.  Everybody line up.  I’m going to give a Three Stooges’ style sequential face-slap to the whole rotten lot of you!”

And, scene.”

By the way, one commenter noted that “Fourth Quintile Platypus” would be a fine name for a punk band, and I can’t disagree.

In February … Elizabeth Warren gave us all a Valentine’s Day present by revisiting her fairy tale genealogy at a speech to an American Indian group.

“This story has been extensively researched – and extensively debunked – and the smart thing would have been for Warren to let that old story get older.  But “smart” is not the Nordic Cherokee’s strong suit.

She used fake Indian ancestry to get an affirmative action job at Harvard, and launch her academic and later political career.  And she contributed a few alleged Indian recipes for Oklahoma Crab Bisque to a cookbook called (I’m not kidding) Pow Wow Chow.  (This clever recipe would definitely fool anyone who has never seen a crab, or been to Oklahoma, or is otherwise unable to look up either crabs or Oklahoma.)

But that’s done.  It’s in the past.  Or it would be, if she wasn’t stupid enough to bring it up again in front of the National Congress of American Indians!

Look, Liz, you’ve got to face facts.  You’re the least convincing Indian since Cher put on a bedazzled loincloth with a ginormous headdress and sang Half Breed.  (Watch that on Youtube right now, if you haven’t seen it.)  Or since an entire cast of buckskin-wearing vaguely ethnic extras made the tv show F-Troop (Youtube.  Right now!)  Larry Storch, who was supposed to be a white soldier, was a more convincing Indian than you.

Remember Iron Eyes Cody, the Indian who cried over litter in commercials? (Youtube, I tell’s ya!)  He was not an Indian.  He was an Italian guy named Vito Lucchese Siciliano, or something like that.  But at least he had dark skin and dark eyes, and changed his name to “Iron Eyes.”

You’re blonde, and blue eyed, and you look like a New England WASP who is none too pleased that the help is getting a little chatty as she dusts the cherry wood harpsicord that great-great-great-grandfather brought over with him on the Mayflower.   And your name is ELIZABETH!  First it was Elizabeth Herring, and then you married some sap named Warren.

And you know what no librarian has ever said, when surrounded by a semi-circle of bright-eyed four-year olds, on a faded carpet near the circulation desk?  “Gather round, kids, and I’ll tell you story of when the noble Sauk Herrings went on the war path against the fearsome Chickasaw Warrens!”

You’re a doddering old white lady, Liz, and you’re as phony as a Clinton wedding vow, and we will never stop mocking you.


In March… Planned Parenthood had a busy month.

“First, they supported the “March for our Lives,” gun-grabbing extravaganza.  Savor the irony: a Planned Parenthood event supporting children’s lives.

On a related note, mark your calendars for April: don’t miss the “National Socialist March for B’Nai B’rith,” on the fifth, the “Silicon Valley Amish Tech-stravaganza,” on the tenth, and the Bill Clinton “Promise Keepers,” rally on the 18th.  (Free “Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery” keychains to the first 200 people through the doors!)

Not satisfied with that shameless stunt, P-squared also took a brave stand on Disney princesses.  A Pennsylvania PP affiliate tweeted earlier this week – and I am not making this up, because no one could – the following:  “We need a Disney princess who’s had an abortion.”

Yikes.  That’s definitely what I wanted I wanted to hear from my daughters, when they were little: “Daddy, remember when Cinderella used to like that shiftless drifter, and then her belly started getting big, but by the time it was time for her to meet Prince Charming, she was skinny again?”

“Yes, honey,” I would never say in a million years, “she had to do that so that she could self-actualize, and marry up, and then slowly reveal her moral vacuity and make the Prince’s life a living hell until he prayed for the sweet release of death.”

“What’s ‘vacuity’?” my daughter would ask, and I’d say, “Look it up in the dictionary.  It’s next to the picture of Elizabeth Warren.”

“Should we ever stop mocking her?” my innocent daughter would ask.

And I’d say, “What do you think, Sweet Pea?”

And she’d look down at her shoes sheepishly, and mumble, “Never?”

And I’d say, “Never, ever, ever.”


But Planned Parenthood wasn’t through tweeting yet.  It also called for “pro-choice,” “Illegal immigrant,” “union worker,” and – wait for it – “trans” Disney princesses.

Yes.  A “trans” princess.  Because nothing brings a fantasy story alive like having a prince climb up the side of a tower using Rapunzel’s thick, lustrous beard.  Or like having the prince wake Snow White with a kiss, only to notice as her eyes flutter open that she has morning wood.

Nice job Planned Parenthood!


In April… I noticed a small story that struck me as emblematic of the bad behavior of elected leftists that is doing so much to worsen our civic culture.  The culprit this time was a Houston councilwoman named Kellye Burke:

“This upstanding citizen shares a last name with conservative genius of yesteryear Edmund Burke, so I’m predisposed to like her.  But it turns out that her last name is absolutely the only thing she shares with Burke.  For example, she spells her first name with a comically misplaced “e.”

Now maybe we shouldn’t judge her for that, because her parents might have stuck her with that spelling.  But she could have changed it.  “Kelly” is a fine name.  Kelly is the kind of girl who’s a lot of fun on a first date, and she smells nice, and she kisses you for just long enough when you’re dropping her off, and a few months later you take her home to meet mom and dad.

“Kellye,” on the other hand?  As soon as she gets off the main stage, she’ll be going to the Champagne Room, where you can buy her a watered-down drink for $47, followed by a lap dance during which she tells you how she is working her way through community college, and last fall she co-starred in a movie with Stormy Daniels.

Anyway, Kellye recently went into a little store called – I am not making this up – Tiny’s Milk and Cookies.  (I’m so hoping that “Tiny” is a good-natured 300+ pounder who gets a kick out of his/her ironic nickname, and I’d bet you that that place has some darn good cookies, which Tiny has perfected after long, exhaustive process of trial and error and taste-testing.)

At Tiny’s, Kellye sees four teenage girls, who are in line waiting – again, not making this up – to buy cookies for their church group.  Of course, they were wearing Antifa and “I’m With Her” t-shirts.

HA!  I kid.

One of the girls was wearing a Trump “Make America Great Again” t-shirt.

So naturally, “Wrong E” Kellye did what any mentally stable, enlightened leftist adult would do.   She walked up to them and screamed, “Grab them by the p—sy, girls!”  The girls were startled, and tried to laugh it off, but, “Nevertheless, she persisted!”  (Get it?  There’s the required Elizabeth Warren reference.  NSM) (i.e. Never Stop Mocking.)

Then, according to one of the girls’ fathers, “She yells it again.  At that point the girls were getting kind of scared, and then the woman starts going, ‘MAGA! MAGA! MAGA!’ while shaking her fist.”

Someone in the shop reported the woman to the cops, and when they investigated and cited her, they found out that she was a city councilwoman.  She was charged with a Class C Misdemeanor.

I think I know what the “C” stands for.

Next up: the best of May – August.  And in the meantime, please enjoy the 2018 Christmas portrait of Cassie the Wonder Dog.  Her favorite gift was a copy of Charles Krauthammer’s essays, which she has given a two-paws-up rating.

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