From time to time, we at The Post-Industrial Post like to take a measured look at a newsmaker currently in the public eye. We tend toward the soft and gentle when it comes to our opinions, avoiding the cheapest of shots and preferring instead to offer analysis and a deeper look into the personalities that make up these often controversial figures.
In that spirit, and while observing senior presidential advisor Kellyanne Conway work the talk shows the other day, we were struck by her uncanny resemblance to spoiled cheese. Specifically, rotten cheddar cheese.
Not in any way trying to be unkind, we simply think that the similarities are unavoidable. Consider that they are both aged, although Conway is much more elderly than even the best English cheddars, and that each has a yellowish hue. In Conway’s case, that coloration may simply be from exposure to the president’s orange facial dye, but it may well be instead the jaundice of too many days of swallowing political bile and regurgitating it as if it were fresh, untainted sustenance.
Conway, like her la soeur fromage, is a malodorous sort, filling any discussion of which she’s a part with the sort of frightening stink not sniffed since before Rush Limbaugh went deaf and started reading his worst ramblings from cue cards. Oh, she smells to high heaven alright, and she seems to be covered — like her expired cheese sistren — with unsightly blue streaks and oozing cavities of especially foul, semi-gelatinous goo.
Her less attractive qualities, of course, are even more hideous, but we’d be remiss if we allowed ourselves to get caught up in the sort of pejoratives and ad hominem attacks which define our competitor publications. Surprisingly, we’re more often than not actually quite enamored with Kellyanne, and often arrive back at the office late from lunch after lingering just a bit too long in the men’s room stall with a copy of her photo and a jar of rancid ghee.
Other times, when tempered objectivity prevails, we’re less enthralled with her, and write op-ed pieces like this, which are a combination of post-ejaculatory frustration and schoolboy obsession. That’s the best thing about running a great metropolitan newspaper, actually. We can say whatever we want. Just like Kellyanne.