The Further Adventures of Peggy Noonan

Anatomy of a Column

noonan

eggy Noonan was waiting in the hospital to visit Dick Cheney, watching all the interesting people rushing past, receptionists filing papers, and deliveries of flowers and reports. It was a maelström of activity. She kicked off her well-worn loafers and wiggled her toes in the mechanically-cooled air. Bliss!

Richard Cheney–who didn’t like being a Richard, he preferred being a Dick–had gone in for heart surgery, again, and again, she was waiting to visit her old friend. They had served together in the Bush 1 White House, and had bonded over speeches and happy hours. “When he’s gone, there will never be another Dick like him,” she thought.

Noonan noted that Dick was the last of his kind, though not the last of his generation. “A serious man, a man who thinks deep thoughts, a battered veteran of life who’s absorbed its facts and lived to tell the tale,” she said to herself.

Looking about, to see if she was being watched, she pulled out of her purse (Dooney & Burke, so cunning, so chic) her First Aid Kit, the amusing name she had given to her hip flask, and took a quick swig.

“We live in a nation—a world—badly in need of adult supervision,” she mused as she put away the flask, “And we are not going to get it from that horrible man who is sitting in Ronnie’s chair,” she grimaced.

“The president is young, too young, at 48. Clinton was immature, too at 46. Kennedy was 43. There ought to be a law. Then again, George W. Bush was 54, and he was hardly mature either.” She reached for the First Aid Kit again.

When the attendant told her that Cheney was able to see her, she wobbled into the elevator and up to his room. The machines, so efficient, so cold and efficient, were clicking and buzzing. One machine made an interesting beep noise now and again and something else made a sucking noise, like the one Ross Perot said was taking Middle America’s jobs away. There was her friend, her Dick, sitting up in bed looking bright-eyed and none the worse for his surgery.

“Good to see you Peggy,” he growled at her.

“Good to see you, too,” she hissed back. They both laughed at the insider joke of their public images.

The beeping machine went silent, and she saw the line go flat. “Should I call the nurse, Dick?” Her little bird-like hands fluttered up to her ever-present pearls, a gift from Ronald Wilson Reagan, the greatest president of the last half of the last century, maybe the greatest president ever.

“Naw, I don’t have a pulse anymore. I don’t know why they have me hooked up to that fucking machine. Some fucker is making a fucking buck off of that. Good thing the US of A is paying for this, I sure as hell won’t!” he roared with laughter, and Noonan joined him.

Noonan glared at Cheney, and said, “A-hem…” and suddenly he made a kind gesture to his old friend.

“Where are my manners, Peggy?,” he said as he offered his pill tray to her.

Youth Has Outlived Its Usefulness — by Peggy Noonan

(Hello Crooks, Hi Liars! Welcome to MPS, it is good to have you with us.)

23 thoughts on “The Further Adventures of Peggy Noonan

  1. Dude, this is the most messed up quote in your piece:

    “A serious man, a man who thinks deep thoughts, a battered veteran of life who’s absorbed its facts and lived to tell the tale,” she said to herself.

    That shit is way too real, too real because it’s true. Except that Ol’ Dick has consistently been on the side of evil and destruction. Not to sound too comic-booky, but if that guy used his abilities for the powers of righteousness, good, and for all of society… the world would be exponentially better instead of exponentially worse.

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    • GRS –

      I try to melt actual quotes from her article into my, um, Anatomy of a Column series. It’s what makes them so creepy: you never know what she really said and what she (ha – me) really meant.

      Rgds,

      TG

      Like

  2. You are seriously unwell, TG, I worry when I read stuff like this on your page. Peggy and DB are becoming way too much a part of your mind, man, get a grip!

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  3. He offered her the pill try but she knew better. Dick whipped out his favorite Winchester and pointed at the face “Go on bitch, just one. I dare ya’.

    She filled her over sized handbag with little Carters and they both laughed.

    ‘Knew it’ she sneered. ‘Stiff as a board and unloaded. Just like the rest of my men’.

    ‘Everyone gets the first one free. Next time….watch yer ass’.

    He returned the gun to it’s hiding place under his sheets and they both laughed in to the night.

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  4. TG, WSJ’s paywall is blocking my access to the piece. To read the whole thing I had to go to her site. I won’t link to it, but I feel I’m worse person for having read her words and for giving her site an extra hit.

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    • GRS –

      There is a secret called technology called The Google that when you enter a phrase, like, oh, the title of a column (as an example) will give you a direct link to it.

      You see, Rupert Murdoch wants your cake to eat, too, but he also wants hits, so paywalls went up, but they did not block search engines.

      Regards,

      TG

      Like

  5. There should be a limit to Noonan. The right wing makes up facts and changes point of view to suite the moment. They are anything BUT consistent. Obama is my age, happily married, never divorced, 2 children who go to school and has served in local, state and federal government. Since when has age ever been the defining characteristic of maturity? Noonan is a drag… a well known drag..I usually turn down the sound on TV when she is on and say rude things (thanks G. Harrison).

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  6. I don’t care who visits the asshole in the hospital – I just hope it turns out to be his Hotel California, and he can never leave!

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    • Welcome to MPS, Ex-Can, it is could to have you with us.

      There was a Hotel California in Oakland, and I was convinced it was the place the Eagles were singing about, and so everytime we drove past it on 580, I would stare at it wondering what the hell was going on in there.

      Regards,

      Tengrain

      Like

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