Anatomy of a Column
aureen Dowd woke up from her power nap just as the taxi pulled in front of her building. She reached into her purse to find the cash, rolled up and rubber banded, but it was tangled up in the panty hose. “So that’s where I left them,” she mused.
Exiting the cab, she uncharacteristically stumbled, to the door of her building.
“Rough weekend, Ms. Dowd?” leered the doorman. “Haven’t see you since you left for DC. It’s Wednesday Ms. Dowd.”
Ignoring him, Dowd rang for the elevator car and looked down at the floor. Each shoe was on the opposite foot. “Well,” she laughed, “that explains the stumbling.”
The doors opened and the gasp was audible. “Cram it, Noonan. Not like you haven’t had your share of lost weekends.” Clutching her pearls with a little bird-like hand, Peggy Noonan scurried out of the car, like some sort of frightened night animal.
The shiny, reflective surfaces of the stainless steel box allowed Dowd to see her face for the first time in three days.
“Dammit,” she muttered to herself in front of her door, “why do I always keep their keys? I hate collections, too sentimental.” On about the fifth or sixth try she opened her door.
It had been a good weekend. The key collection was growing. Though her memory was fuzzy, she did recall a team of brothers at one of the fraternity houses. The older one, somewhat of a rogue had been devilish and daring, and the younger one had been more responsible and in charge. Neither of them was really any good, but what they lacked in talent they made up for in enthusiasm.
“Not as good as the German Fetish Porn workshop from last weekend,” she thought, but there was something about those brothers that reminded her that she had a column to write. Her fingers twitched and the clickety-clack of her red nails filled the apartment.
Rogue Diva of Doom by Maureen Dowd
Well, her points about Cheney are on point, but her style was old ten years ago. Maybe Pinch should save a few bucks and retire the old girl.
Her revisionism on Jeb is astonishing.
Two words: Terri Schiavo.
Regards,
Tengrain
you completely lost me at “by Maureen Dowd”.
Excellent, Tengrain … loved it!
BAC
The real question is, would Capt. Bat Guano hit… Oh, stop it!
You know ‘Grain, I know these charming insights into MoDo’s columns are supposed to make me hate her… but all they are doing is fueling my inappropriate fantasies about her…
Oh well…
[...] Mock, Paper, Scissors: A column in the life of Maureen Dowd. [...]
Grain, Great Job. Can’t Tommyspoon figure it out: that’s half the point.
I may hit it, I may not. It would require some serious hardware if such an ardorous task was undertaken.
Capt. Bat – I understand a stone sex toy was found in a cave. Will that do?
Regards,
Tengrain
MPS prOn, gotta love it!
TG, that’s a start, an attention getter so to speak. No sir, I’m talking some serious 20th century devices.