Tuesday, September 20, 2016

Fall Review of Unreadable Books: Maureen Dowd's latest leftovers

[Editors' Note: One of the best-endured [Surely, loved? – Ed.] features of the The Spy is its periodic Review of Unreadable Books.  What is an Unreadable Book, you may ask?  It's a book that is not just bad, clichéd, or wrong.  No, to qualify for this distinguished company, the book must be susceptible of review without any need to read it.  Indeed, the contents of the book are typically the least important thing about it.  If this strikes you as unfair to hard-working authors, rest assured that (1) nobody fitting that description has ever appeared in this Review and (2) no one has ever claimed that these reviews failed to capture fully and fairly the content and spirit of the unopened tomes.]

The Year of Voting Dangerously
by Maureen Dowd
Twelve Days to Write Press
$30, already marked down to $18

Maureen Dowd has been rehashing the same tiresome column for the last twenty years, so it shouldn't be any surprise that she's meta-rehashing her rehashes between hard covers.  The new kitchen in her Georgetown condo won't rebuild itself, people.

Comedy gold: on the one hand, a candidate who
used her own email server . . .
You can tell this book not only by its author, but by its cover: a surprisingly crude drawing of Hillary Clinton kicking Donald Trump down his escalator.  We're sure the hilarity continues unabated inside.  After all, what is more amusing than a woman who has spent decades in politics usually devoted to helping the less fortunate running for the most important job in world against a narcissistic tangerine-faced grifter with ADD who bases his entire campaign on appealing to bigots and neo-Nazis, when he's not crawling up Putin's ass?

In Maureen's world view, you've got an amusing bullsh*t artist and ladies' man who doesn't take any of the crap he says seriously running against an self-righteous old schoolmarm who wouldn't kick her cheatin' husband to the curb and tries to protect her privacy from the legions devoted to spreading detestable lies about her.  Oh, also she kept her official emails on her own server.  How amusing that we must choose between equally flawed individuals!  She hasn't had this many laughs since boring sententious Al Gore ran against fun-lovin' W., and that turned out pretty well.

You might think that the udder of both-sides-do-it would be running a little dry by now.  In contrast to the Times columnist, an increasing number of real journalists have kicked over the milking stands and now seek to inform the public that this election is not funny at all and that victory for the TFG would be a disaster of fathomless depth.  If he'd start a war with Iran because a sailor insulted him, who knows what he'd do when he is offended by some country that possesses a working nuclear weapon?

 . . . and on the other
This leaves Ms. Dowd as pretty much the only milkmaid on the barn still pulling away.  We hope that the new granite counters make it all worthwhile, if only because they are among the small minority of objects that would survive a 20-megaton hydrogen bomb detonated over the National Press Club.  On the brighter side, though, if President TFG avoids nuclear holocaust and limits his catastrophes to global warming, she could even end up with oceanfront property.

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