Reading crackhead Michelle Malkin’s column yesterday (
http://michellemalkin.com/2007/09/19/silly-sally-field-doesnt-speak-for-me) was like having a one-on-one conversation with Crazy. Malkin must've gotten her hands on some really good rock (we don’t indulge, so we wouldn’t be able to gauge the quality of crack ourselves, but we’re guessing), smoked that “shiznit” (we hear that’s what she calls it), gotten high as hell, watched the Emmys, and decided the people inside the TV were speaking directly to her. The drugged up aspiring journalist went batshit after watching Sally Field’s acceptance speech, in which she said:
“Surely this [award] belongs to all the mothers of the world. Especially…the mothers who stand with an open heart and wait. Wait for their children to come home from danger, from harm’s way and from war. I am proud to be one of those women. If mothers ruled the…world, there would be no goddamned wars in the first place."
As drug-free readers, we understand that Field was recognizing the mothers of U.S. troops and the devastating sacrifice they potentially face; that she is a mother who is fiercely protective of her children – as mothers are wont to be – and empathizes with those mothers who cannot protect their children from war; and that most mothers in Iraq and America and elsewhere place a premium on life that supersedes war profiteering, oil reserves and political power struggles.
Malkin, however, hopped up on crack and angel dust – and probably drooling – must’ve heard Field talking in Judas Priest lyrics spoken backwards. In a drug induced haze (again, we’re guessing) she writes:
"Sally Field is the mom who looks the other way when the brat on the elementary school slide pushes your son to the ground or throws dirt in your daughter’s face."
We’re unsure how Field’s words, which clearly indicate her motherly instinct to shield her children from every attack, could give rise to this kind of misinterpretation. The only thing we are sure of after reading this is that Malkin will beat up little children if they get out of line or play rough. Or simply if given the chance. Or, you know…if no one is looking.
Malkin then kicks the bonkers up a notch:
"She's the mom who holds her tongue at the mall when thugs spew profanities and make crude gestures in front of her brood."
Um…where does Malkin shop? At malls near crackhouses, apparently, for convenience. Where bands of foulmouthed ne’er-do-wells rove from Lane Bryant to Cinnabon to Rave, looking for passerby toward whom they can thrust their groins, wag their tongues and spit dirty words. And yet, oddly, she always chooses to bring her kids along.
Malkin’s nonsensical ramblings include references to “sheep mothers” and “lion mothers” and she accuses Field of thinking “with [her] womb.” She ends by suggesting Field “speak for [her] bleepin’ self.” The message is clear: Malkin is perfectly willing to send her children off to battle, even in a war that lacks clear justification. What passes for good mothering – and morality – in Malkin’s world is unquestioning compliance with the policies of her country, not the overriding desire to keep every mother’s children safe. In the meantime, we imagine her raising hawkish children who are learning to react violently to perceived indignities on the playground and have their moral systems informed, above all, by their government’s decisions.
It’s sad, really, but we believe – we hope – it’s the drugs (all of them, from the crack to the PCP to the Spanish fly to the Burmese street slug embryonic fluid and back again) talking. And we sincerely want Malkin to get help before she writes again.
Or punches some little kid in the face.