Late Night: Well, Son, I Say, I Do Declare, Shut the HECK Up
There are many rooms in the House of Wingnut Prose. Each is squalid and awful, yet each possesses its distinct redolence, from the billowy fumes of the Den of Goldbergian Flatulence, to the bitter stench of the Chamber of Malkinesque Resentment.
And then we have the Hall of Incompetent Bombast, in whose dark depths we have been known to spelunk — and where we find ourselves yet once more, owing to the sublimely ridiculous Allen West’s recent dingaling screed on the subject of Debbie Wasserman-Schultz’s failure to properly respect his Mighty Sword of Justice.
Our friend Steve M. has noted the odd pomposity of West’s diction in his dowdy jeremiad, describing it as “wannabe-Shakespearean.” I’m not sure that’s right, though. It’s shopworn Buckley-striving, combined with even sillier undigested source material. Allow me to illustrate. Here are a set of Foghorn Leghorn quotes, juxtaposed with quotes from West’s email.
You are the most vile, unprofessional ,and despicable member of the US House of Representatives.
This is a dog, not a chicken. Chicken’s don’t look like dogs. Who told you this was a chicken, son? Nice boy, but doesn’t listen to a thing you say. You got a bum steer, son. I’m a chicken, not a schnook. You’re wrong, son.
If you have something to say to me, stop being a coward and say it to my face, otherwise, shut the heck up. Focus on your own congressional district!
Nice girl, but about as sharp as a sack of wet mice.
You have proven repeatedly that you are not a Lady, therefore, shall not be afforded due respect from me!
Let me guess, dearie. You’re looking for a husband.
Steve opines, “Maybe keeping it stylized and pseudo-highfalutin (Herman Cain does this, too) makes his rage seem ‘safe.'” Sure. Though there is also a pretty clear terror on the part of an idiot not to look stupid.