If you can envision two aging, exceedingly unattractive, grossly overweight tattooed ladies, with butch haircuts, greasing their entire skin-flapping bodies and then engaging in a winner-takes-all two-day sumo wrestling match, you understand what it is like to read another puerile essay in the Los Angeles Times by Shallow Sandy (I Used to Hold up) Banks.
Hewing to an unswerving, hardline agenda underpinned by dripping vengefulness, Ms. Banks’s bilge is a large lump to swallow even if she occasionally deserves pity.
If you are black or a woman and self-inflicted poor — preferably all three, with lesbian tastes tossed in for cultural seasoning — Ms. Banks will climb over dead bodies of noble men to fatuously glorify the many true slugs of her bigoted world.
Exceedingly insecure and chronically angry at all around her, Sandy Baby loves building up unworthy persons because that will draw attention to her vanilla-plain writing.
When Ms. Banks first, unfortunately, arrived at the Times, she surrounded herself with wall-length mirrors when she sat down to herocize herself. She wrote about the painful but remarkably suprahuman existence of single moms, starting with her own unhappy life.
Ms. Banks was widowed. That is a tragedy. She was young when her husband died and so were her children. But when a narcissistic, race-centric, gender-centric woman with an uncomplicated mind pleads with you, essay after essay, feel sorry for me because I am a widow, it swiftly becomes tiresome.
Between boorishness and galloping insecurity, Sandy Baby sounds like a fully employed mess battling a merited inferiority complex. (This is why she chooses to write about life’s least deserving losers, to make herself feel more accomplished.)
A Cheer for the Bad Guys
Her nasty-minded essay on page 2 of this morning’s Times would have embarrassed a second-grader. Casually, she wraps a golden mantle around the necks of criminals and wannabees, as she did today.
But, hey, baby, when you are a heroic single mom out there in a mean-spirited world battling Republicans and similar insects all day long, it feels good to lionize those to whom you feel so superior.
Start with the headline about a topical, and disgusting, subject that has been in the news lately:
“Don’t scapegoat welfare for irresponsible spending.”
As you know, thousands of routinely bulging single mothers on welfare commit fraud as unconsciously as they order another heavily leaking double-triple-bacon-cheeseburger-ham-chicken double decker. Whoosh! Vanishes in two broad bites.
The Times has been reporting that thousands of permanently unemployed welfare recipients have been cashing in debit cards at such honorable sanctuaries of sinlessness as casinos and strip joints.
What, the remarkably ignorant Ms. Banks wonders, is wrong with that?
I quote the little lady who denies that many of the impoverished have chosen this lifestyle:
“I understand the outrage over casinos and strip clubs, But I also worry because welfare is an easy whipping boy, and the controversy is likely to undermine support for programs for vulnerable families in our state’s collapsing economy.”
In her devious mind, Sandy (Lordy, How I Love Victims) Baby never finds it in her twisted heart to blame the welfare slugs who are perpetrating this mountain of fraud.
Not our Sandy.
“It would be a shame to toss struggling families overboard in a state where the safety net already is down to a little more than a few flimsy strings.”
If you see her before I do, kindly urge her to coax her welfare fraud friends to get a job before The Joke Who Became President gains anymore ground in his own devious scheme to redistribute the wealth of those of us who actually work for a living.
