The Further Adventures of Peggy Noonan
eggy Noonan was staring at the glasses at Cost Plus, rows upon rows of glasses, all sorts of glasses, so plentiful, so reasonably priced, though not elegant, but given the way that Consuelo, Noonan’s trusted housekeeper kept breaking glasses it seemed more practical than buying replacements from Pottery Barn.
“Times,” thought Noonan, “are tough all over. We all must make sacrifices.” She put a dozen glasses in her cart. It was just in the nick of time, too. The last Mai Tai glass had broken just that morning when Consuelo arrived and started cleaning. “Sometimes,” Noonan thought darkly, “I think she does it on purpose because she doesn’t want to wash them.” She wondered how much each glass would hold, including the pineapple wedge.
The economy was weighing heavily on her mind. She had seen tent cities, not personally, of course, but on the news, tent cities springing up all over, like so many mushrooms after a warm rain, one especially large tent city outside of the state capitol of California, Sacramento, where Ronald Wilson Reagan once lived when he was governor of that wretched place, before he sprang, fully formed like Botticelli’s Birth of Venus on the clamshell of the national stage.
Ronald Wilson Reagan, the best president of the last half of the twentieth century, maybe the best president ever, never blamed his predecessors for the troubles he inherited, unlike the current President. “No, Ronnie,” thought Noonan, “would just roll up his sleeves and get to work and start solving the problems.” Smugly, she thought about how Ronnie freed the hostages on his first day in office.
“The problem with the current president, that likable man, that man who speaks so well and says nothing,” thought Noonan, “is that he has not rolled up his sleeves and freed his hostages yet. It’s been 10 months, and he inherited a mess, but so did Ronnie.”
“What the President needs to do is own the problems, ‘It’s Not My Fault’ is a terrible policy position. No one likes that. It is unbecoming, it is unpersuasive,” thought Noonan, as she careened over to the champagne flutes, her little cart, a little red wagon sort of thing, full of zombie glasses and martini glasses, wobbling in front of her none-too-steady legs.
Noonan spotted some flutes, so cunning, so chic, on the lowest shelf, and bent down to examine them, and toppled over, heels over her ample derrière. There was a terrible crashing noise, worse than when Consuelo threw the last Mai Tai glass against the wall that morning.
Rising up, she faced a grimacing store manager. Stammering, Noonan smiled enigmatically, “It was an accident, I’m sure that you can see I didn’t mean to do it. And besides, the aisles are too narrow…”
“Excuses are like assholes, lady. Everybody has one. You break it, you buy it. Store policy” he said to her as he started calculating the bill.
It’s His Rubble Now — by Peggy Noonan
Cash, no checks, remember?
LMAO!
FanfuckingTGtastic.
Also, pity the poor store manager who got a glance of Nooner’s nooner, likely last seen by none other than Ronnie himself.
These just get better and better. Thanks.
Dude, these are so fucking good. Get them into a coffee table book.
Another superb Noonan alter ego study…I agree with Randal…these deserve a collection in a book tengrain…
i cannot stop laughing
before he sprang, fully formed like Botticelli’s Birth of Venus on the clamshell of the national stage.
when you do you Pegginton Noonington Coffee Table Book
can i be the official artist
and since when does PN shop at cost plus – she is more of a Kmart kind of gal.
(this was the best – i will be sure to give Peggers your URL)
DCap -
That was my favorite line of the whole thing – thanks for calling it out and for the illustration:
Rgds,
Tengrain