A bad night's work

Megan posted several things about the primary last night. They were all highly unintelligent. Lookee

Obama wins Noth [sic] Carolina. Nothing changes.:

As far as I can tell, the demographic data for people over the age of 65 is based entirely on one woman in Des Moines who thought she was opening a bank account.

Indiana is still a mystery wrapped in a riddle inside an enigma. No, not really. It's probably going to go for Hillary. Time to order more Xanax. Luckily, I'm told it will be cheaper when we get a new president who allows pharmaceutical reimportation.

Of course, by then I'll probably need antipsychotics.

Apparently, these are jokes.

Talking heads:

they are valiantly filling the air with observations of astonishing triviality. "You know, this is all about the votes," says one of the bland women I have never heard of. In a moment, one of them is going to start commenting on how there are all these cameras and lights and things in the studio. The other will undoubtedly respond by picking up a fire safety flyer and reading us the fine print. Hell, at least we might learn something.

If only one could put out political blather with a little stop, drop and roll.

If you think that's a an incredible display of an utter lack of self awareness, just wait till you see what's coming.

Victory is ours theirs elusive:

My favorite part os [sic] these speeches is the shout outs to minor officials, random local dignitaries, and that nice lady who sold the good Senator a donut and a cup of coffee this morning. What a smile, that Ella Mae. Gave our candidate the strength to go on, it did. Ella Mae, couldn't have done it without you. Together, we're going to bring change to America. And I know you can, because this morning you counted out that dollar ninety-six like a champ. Didn't even have to use a calculator.

"So there's no chance she's going to drop out tonight, is there?" asked one of my companions, plaintively. The consensus of the room is no. I see this contest carrying on past June--like, June 2082. Our great-grandchildren will battle in a post-apocalyptic America desiccated by global warming and littered with the corpses of uninsured union members whose textile jobs were outsourced to Alpha Centauri.

Megan, please write an extended series of posts on race and education. It'd be less painful than your attempts at humor. Hitler was funnier than you.

Obama will stop the mean corporations from stealing all our jobs:

Gack. Now Obama is ranting about how he's going to make the corporations give us super fuel-efficient cars, find awesome new sources of oil, make renewable energy affordable, and invent a really delicious fat-free ice cream. However did we manage to get through the first 200 years without Barack Obama to beat some progress out of the corporations that have been holding us back?

And so Megan remembers she's chosen to support a candidate who isn't corrupt enough for her standards. It's all well and good to make noise about helping people, but let's not forget that the only thing that matters is corporate profits. They make babies smile and cripples walk.

The evening drags on:

I can't stop thinking about that PJ O'Rourke quote: "She had that wonderful gift some old ladies have of letting everything in her brain run right out her mouth."

I honestly wonder whether Megan understands what mirrors are, sometimes.

There's more, but this was more than enough. Dear Megan's enablers, stop telling her she's funny. Lying to someone isn't being a good friend.