Did Mary Matalin have Plastic Surgery? It seems I have been fingered for serving up garlic bread at the wrong house party.
It seems that a friend is wondering if my open letter to Arianna Huffington speculating about Mary Matalin's facelift was "a little harsh." Harsh? Was it the part about Transylvania? Or comparing her new appearance to that of the *fearless* literary impressario, Arianna Huffington?
Harsh? au contraire. And believe me, I personally think any reference to Transylvania is a riot! When I saw Mary's photo shortly after the lift, Transylvania is simply what came to mind. Perhaps so much time spent in Washington D.C. has a way of wearing on one's sense of humor -- making one a little more touchy or needlessly defensive. Just having fun, you know, good natured spoofing. And, if I saw Mary in person I would certainly tell her that to her face, because that is the kind of person I am - a straight shooter, just like Cheney. After all, she is a Croat and they're all related over there anyway, hence the reference to the Transylvanian resemblance.
I watched the Blues Brothers last night and laughed as hard as I did when it came out in the 80's. The concept of "truthiness" was not lost on Jake and Elwood.
I wrote this after I read several mean spirited rumblings about her facelift, like "Madwoman of Chaillot" and "Lady McCheney" etc. At least my post is funny. And good spirited. Don't forget that those media pundits receive monetary incentives for their remarks while 2Truthy, who tirelessly toils away at the smelt factory of Silicon Valley and never gives up hope for the American Dream, does not.
I did see a picture of her shortly after the lift and she did look a little too tight or scary, you know, kind of Eddie Munsterish, Halloweenish... Did my glow in the dark, trick store fangs come out, you wonder? No blood has been drawn over my post. And besides, Nobody reads this stuff, right?
In all fairness, and from what I gather, shortly after having a facelift, everybody tends to look like they've been blown through a wind tunnel and back. And then some through a Transylvanian tunnel. Take me, on the other hand. My expectations are modest.
Should the hands of time on the clock of my face be mercilessly moved forward into some unforgiving, international time zone of no return, this Irish girl hopes for a surgeon with all the misanthropic grace and skills of DOCTOR HOUSE (new addition to 2Truthy's Official Party List) who, pray tell, wouldn't use an unsterilized potato peeler.
Whats-more, I'm horribly bored with technology and refuse to even mow my own lawn. I am a casualty of losing the war on humor.