Meow

A male reporter would be lynched for this, but that doesn't make S.E. Cupp's December 15th NY Daily News column, "Newt Gingrich, natural woman," any less delicious:

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. No one in the modern era, save maybe Lorena Bobbitt, has proved the axiom more true than our gal pal Newton Leroy Gingrich, who is now -- let’s face it -- a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. . .

It all started when that no-good prom king Mitt Romney did Newt terribly wrong. Everybody knows you don’t double-cross the most popular girl in school, and Newt was just that, for a little while at least. Mitt should have known who he was up against. Newt didn’t get to where she was by being nice. She knows how to fight dirty -- she’s had years of practice.

So when Mitt unexpectedly stole Newt’s thunder, everyone in school could see the writing on the wall. Ms. Gingrich was going to lose it. And lose it she did.

There was the catty talk on the campaign trail about Romney’s posse, his Super PAC brat pack. There were the nasty rumors about Mitt’s past as a Bain Capital ne’er-do-well. And then, in New Hampshire, there was the debate mudslinging over Romney’s reputation. Washington outsider? "Pious baloney! In this high school -- GOP High -- them’s fighting words, and they marked the beginning of the end.

And now that the end is near for Ms. Gingrich, she is getting even more desperate. She’s always taken high school politics personally (remember the time she threatened to shut down the school because she didn’t get a seat at the cool lunch table?) So it’s no surprise to any of us that she’s taking this latest catfight to heart. . .

Well we all have those fantasies. Who among us hasn’t wanted to rip the throat out of some guy who betrayed us? But my message to Ms. Gingrich is simple: Snap out of it. Have some dignity, woman, and do what we all do in times like these.

You get yourself in a bubble bath. Inhale a tub of ice cream in the privacy of your own home while watching a "Toddlers and Tiaras" marathon. And when that tub of ice cream is done, you follow it up with a bag of potato chips and a bowl of Cap’n Crunch. Then cut up all his pictures and burn them in the fireplace. But whatever you do, this public psycho trip has got to stop.

(via reader Warren)