Question: Why does Maureen Dowd still have a column?
Answer: You haven’t been writing your letters, that’s why.
No one understands me. It’s like I’m speaking some Eskimo dialect or something. Andrea Mitchell follows me all the way to Kanakanak Beach and I get a French manicure and set up this huge photo op for her, even though she spooked the salmon.
Todd and me are in our cool fishing bibs. Piper’s helping out on the boat. It’s an amazing day that shows how our Creator favored my beloved Alaska, gatekeeper of the continent, and makes a great shot for all the network reporters up here to milk. This progresses me away from my image as some kind of flaky “rogue diva” and back to my image as a tough huntin’ and fishin’ gal.
But Andrea makes such a darn big deal about how I’m quitting in the middle of my term.
“You’re not listening to me!” I snap.
It’s cringe-worthy. It’s like a middle-school creative writing assignment gone awry–‘Imagine what your favorite celebrity would say in their Diary! Write an entry for them!’
Here’s mine, of Dowd:
Woke up this morning, took my Happy Pills. Shot an email to Friedman for some help brainstorming buzzwords for inclusion in my next column. Had a glass of chardonnay and some Cheerios. Drank some coffee. Went to the office, watched cute videos of cats on YouTube all morning. Two-martini-lunch with the gang. Considered suicide. Took my evening Happy Pills. Considered some of Tom’s buzzword suggestions: “The Palin-tanic”? It could work.
Blech. My throat hurts. Let’s get this woman fired already!