It's About Time

The Crack Young Staff of "The Hatemonger's Quarterly" has finally taken on the skank Wonkette.

{...}Perhaps you’d recognize Wonkette if you saw her, dear reader: She’s a thin, wan 30-something gal who looks as if she’s been genetically engineered to live in a bog. She makes an albino look like Isaac Hayes.

But never mind the fact that Wonkette clearly resembles that girl from your kindergarten class who used to pick her nose and eat it. That’s hardly why she ruffles our collective feathers.

Why, you are no doubt asking yourself, is the crack young staff so oft perturbed by the on-screen antics of Ms. Wonkette?

In short, it’s because she’s egregiously self-impressed, as if making snippy remarks about Jeff Gannon is really so difficult. As she offers her inevitably snarky remarks about the World According to Wonkette, she resembles nothing so much as the Internet’s Marie Antoinette.

“Let me tell you how the world works,” she intones, clad in vertiginous pastels that violently clash with her Conan O’Brien color palette.

To which we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” reply: Look, Wonkette. We’re sorry you didn’t make the cheerleading squad in high school because your ribs are iridescent. But could you please can the smugness? You’re like David Spade and Dennis Miller’s love child, for crying out loud.{...}

Interestingly enough, I read somewhere that Wonkette was originally from Lincoln, Nebraska. You know, that town in Nebraska where this school is. As most of you know, I grew up in Omaha. When I was in high school, places like The Old Market were our popular hangouts. Until the loser Lincoln kids started showing up.

It was our general opinion that they mixed quite well with the white trash from Council 'Tucky, who had actually managed to be more hip and started hanging out over on our side of the river, "scooping the loop" in the Market in their white trash cars. Which means they drove around the cobbled streets of the Market about five thousand times a night. The Lincoln kids, well...you could tell who they were and why they were there just by looking at them. They'd driven the sixty some odd miles to get someplace hip. Someplace cool. Because Lincoln is just not cool. It has no cul-chah for those who are not interested in banging the Cornhusker drum. That they thought Omaha was an oasis of cool in the vast Nebraska wilderness spoke volumes. Because while they thought they'd reached paradise, well, most of us were ready to get the hell out of there.

I'd bet my left boob that Wonkette was one of those kids.