Stingray applies liquid sunbeams to a pork tenderloin taco at the indispensable TacoDeli, which taco stand is the principal force in a spinster aunt’s being.
There are gaps in my intelligence on the recent Amanda Marcotte/Shakes Sis/psychotic godbag/American Political Machine episode. I am not in possession of all the facts. For instance, was there a train? My stomach clenches when I think of Amanda, bursting with young, sparkling genius, a scuffed leather suitcase in her hand, waving goodbye through a billow of steam as the train sweeps away from the station for the Edwards campaign, only to be jumped in the club car by vulgar hate-filled minions of the vile godbag Donohue turd, before anyone can bring her a martini.
I suppose now all the candidates think that if you so much as buy a feminist a taco, some creepy Catholic jihadist will spring out from the pantry and accuse you of having buttsex with aborted blaspheming blastocysts. And the New York Times will print it.
What continues to boggle the giant Twisty mind is not that religious extremists claim that their asinine beliefs are so glitteringly holy that no one may live who dares question their high moral purpose, but that they get away with it.
In the Twisty version, “Ms Marcotte Goes To Washington,” enlightened genderless aliens arrive in their organic mothership and aim a Lobotomy Beam at the brains of all woman-hating, dead-ghost-from-the-Roman-Empire-worshiping assholes; John Edwards holds a press conference announcing that he was just kidding when he said he was “offended” by Shakes’ and Amanda’s “intolerant language,” and will be henceforth be running on a platform of women’s liberation; Amanda becomes Chief of Staff; the enlightened genderless aliens throw a yacht party on their holodeck; Twisty takes ample advantage of the champagne fountain.