The Further Adventures of Peggy Noonan
Anatomy of a Column
eggy Noonan was at the third or fourth pharmacy of the morning, the same, always the same edition of Newsweek on the stand, with the same grinning face of that likable man, the horrible man who was president, that man who made her blood boil. “No Reagan, he!” she exclaimed under her breath.
The prescriptions were out and the dull throb was returning, and Noonan needed the medicines to keep the throbbing at bay. The pain was piercing and dull, throbbing and wafting, so dull, so piercing, rolling over her head like a quilt that she could ignore, but would not.
Looking about, Noonan spotted various condoms and personal lubricants next to the pharmacy’s cash register. “And soon,” she murmured, “soon it will be like that to buy abortion pills. Just another impulse item to drop into the basket, along with a tube of lipstick.” So jaded, so cynical.
“We’re sorry, Ms. Noonan, but our records show that you had this filled earlier this today, and we cannot refill your prescription so soon. And our records show that you tried to fill this three times this morning at other branches.”
Why was this lowly pharmacist standing between her various highly paid doctors and their prescription pads?
“You can call it HIPPA, but I call it invasion of privacy,” she said to her tormentor. “My freedoms have been diminished.” She turned smartly on her heel, and with her bruised dignity intact, like a stately ship, swaying slightly, she exited the too-brightly lit store.
Returning home to the Aviary (so small, so chic, her little penthouse in the clouds, like a little bird’s nest in the sky), Noonan threw herself on the divan, sobbing. The cruel and wicked reach of the horrid computer was keeping her away from medical relief, so soft, so gentle, so wanted. The wicked reach of the government was keeping her from the relief she sought.
Drying her tears, she counted out the remaining little pills, so small, so needed, and now so rationed.
Common Sense May Sink ObamaCare
It turns out the president misjudged the nation’s mood. – by Peggy Noonan
Once again, the story behind Noonan’s column is much more interesting and intellectually stimulating than the article itself.
Sometimes it’s better for heath care to be mysterious. Just walk on by.
I LOVE your Nooner columns.
Priceless.
Fun snark Tengrain…this and other posts on Noonan have been some of your best…thanks!
There’s nothing quite like doomsday prophecies, are there?
Limbaugh could give her some tips.
Poor Peg, sounds like she needs a better ‘scipt bitch. I heard that MJ’s is looking for work.
Thank you for reading Nooner so I don’t have to. And, of course, I must add that maybe she needs a mother’s little helper to forget the time she screwed Jeff Greenfield while they were both married with children, leading to two broken marriages and god knows what kind on onerous divorce settlements.
Pissed -
The previous Anatomy of a Column featured a reference to Mr. Greenfield. It appeared while you were in the land of political corruption, kidneys and designer bags. The Other Chicago.
Anyway, Mr. Greenfield might become a recurring theme in these pages, MmmmmK?
Regards,
Tengrain
Another classic La Nooner column. (Kinda miss the Noodity though).
You made my day, Tengrain. Ok, now I have an ugly image of Greenfield and the Nooner getting it on. Time for a drink!