Happy birthday Liz Warren, turning 70 gets you more alt-left love
Happy 70th birthday, fake Indian!
Her big day is Saturday, and I’ll bet this is news to you. But I think the imminent 7-0 explains the recent torrent of fawning puff pieces Lieawatha has gotten in the alt-left media over the last few days.
These next 72 hours are her hagiographers’ last chance not to have to lump her in there, actuarially anyway, with the other wrinkly septuagenarians on the Democrat side, Joe Biden, age 76, and Bernie Sanders, age 77.
These slobbering kisses she’s been collecting in recent days are actually the second break she’s gotten on the old-folks candidate front. Last week, she was picked for the first of the two televised Democrat debates Monday night – bigger audience, obviously, for the initial date.
So she won’t be appearing on the same MSNBC stage Tuesday with the other two geezers. Even your run-of-the-mill Democrat stenographer for the mainstream media might have found it irresistible to lump the geriatrics together had they all been under the klieg lights together, an early-bird special of ageism.
Do you suppose the fake Indian will have a big birthday cake Saturday somewhere out on the trail, as a weekend photo op? Probably not – she got her gifts early, in the form of interminably slobbering wet kisses in both the New Yorker and The New York Times.
The Washington Post, of course, bows to no one in its sycophancy the fraud that is Elizabeth Warren, but they prefer to give her a daily smooch rather than bundle it up on the weekend:
June 12: “Why Elizabeth Warren is surging….”
June 11: “Elizabeth Warren is proving her doubters wrong….”
June 6: “Warren’s policy barrage reshapes the Democratic….”
It’s easy to judge just how swooning the profile of the fake Indian is going to be, by how soon into the story the writer (invariably a female, by the way) mentions the fake Indian’s dog, a golden retriever named Bailey. This is the dog that replaced her first canine, whose demise was first chronicled in the failing local sheet that “thoroughly investigated” her fake Indian heritage, and found her totally blameless, wink wink nudge nudge.
The New York Times wins easily – Bailey appears in the story’s first paragraph, second line, and is the subject of the entire second paragraph. Obviously, this is going to be a probing, hard-hitting investigation, which only becomes clearer in the third graf, when we learn that she enjoys tea and “her favorite morning blend is English breakfast.”
Fascinating stuff. In magazines, these are what Tom Wolfe used to call “status details.” I wonder what her favorite mustard is – French’s? Coffee? I’m going with Maxwell House – it’s good to the last drop, after all.
In The New Yorker, Bailey doesn’t shamble onto the stage until the ninth paragraph, when the writer gushes that “she showed me a video on her phone of Bailey.” Awww, gosh, Mabel, she’s just like us after all!
The second way you can measure the scribe’s obsequiousness is when they mention Spreading Bull’s age, or don’t. Again, the New Yorker at least whispers it in the ninth paragraph: “Warren, who is 69….”
The Times is sneakier. They too wait until the ninth paragraph – maybe there’s some research showing that even low-info Rachel Maddow viewers don’t read beyond the eighth – but here’s how they couch it:
“Warren has been a politician for only seven years, since she announced her run for the Senate in 2011 at age 62.”
In other words, you have do some math, simple as it is, to figure out just how close the fake Indian is to the happy hunting grounds. Which brings us to the 900-pound gorilla in the teepee, or is it the wigwam.
Again,
the Times gives her decades of racial fraud the biggest brooming, mentioning
“her self-identification in the 1980’s and ‘90s as part Native American.”
The New Yorker: “her self-described Cherokee heritage.”
Both agreed he Indian blood was basically non-existent: “very slight,” according to the magazine, “distant,” said the Times, euphemistically. But I give the edge on honesty to the New Yorker. At least they mentioned that in 2012 “a right-wing radio host announced that he had swiped a pen cap that Warren had removed with her teeth and said that he had sent it to a lab for DNA testing.”
That would be me.
Obviously, the Times out-woked their fellow Social Justice Warriors at the New Yorker. Which was why the New Yorker felt compelled to post yet another valentine to Fauxchahontas yesterday by someone named Osita Nwanevu. No need to dissect it at length – all you need to know is that the author refers to a “looming ecological collapse” and you get the drift. Only Bailey’s owner – er, companion, can save the planet….
As for me, when it comes to the fake Indian, I think I’ll keep working the other side of the street. Lot more elbow room over here.
Happy 70th birthday, Senator! You heard it here first.
