I woke up this morning to find that a journalist from the LA Times had come out and apologized for what he wrote about Sarah Huckabee Sanders in his column. "A slightly chunky soccer mom" was the offending description.
"Dressed for junior prom," I would have added.
And that's just what kind of bad person I am.
However, I have seen the light.
"Sexist trash!" cried one outraged comment to the article, and it cut me to the quick. I am guilty. Terribly, terribly guilty of cruel and disparaging discourse on the physical attributes - or lack thereof - (See? There I go again. Bad girl.) of the subjects of my writings.
And to show the sincerity of my atonement, I am going to confess to each and every one of my many crimes, so I might humbly beg the forgiveness of those I intended to wound:
I'm sorry, Kevin Brady, for thinking you look like Don Rickles, but without the funny.
I'm sorry, Steve Miller, for implying that you look remind me of Lurch.
I'm sorry, Donald Junior, for naming you Weasel McWeaselface (I haven't yet, but it's a good idea), and for suggesting that your head needs a chin.
I'm sorry, Kellyanne Conway, for mentioning your facelift, laughing at your inauguration dress, and pointing out your resemblance to Bill the Cat.
I'm sorry, Mike Pence, for noting the similarity between your head and a sugar cube skull from a Day of the Dead party, for mentioning your overall appearance of being made of PVC, and for relating the way you express yourself to an LSD flashback.
I'm sorry, Ivanka, for mistaking you for a blonde Kardashian, for insinuating that excessive exposure to bleach and blow dryers might cause brain damage, for bemoaning a future of mid-price designer, and for speculating that you and Melania are part of an attack of "fake fashion news". For the record, I think you're just stupid.
I'm sorry, Jeff Sessions, for calling you a "wonky-eared little toad" and wondering about your association with Keebler Elves.
I'm sorry, Kid Rock, for drawing attention to the fact that you look like everybody's creepy uncle.
I'm sorry, Eric, for writing that you (like your brother) look like a weasel. It was an unforgiveable lack of creativity on my part.
I'm sorry, Blake Farenthold, for talking about your largeness. Please understand, it was only in reference to your viability as a target for Susan Collins, Lisa Murkowski, and Shelley Moore Capito.
I'm sorry, Anthony Scaramucci, for saying you dress like an undertaker and talk like My Cousin Vinny.
I'm sorry, Steve Bannon for referring to you as a bloated, warty toad, and assuming you don't bathe very often.
I'm sorry, Theresa May, for making fun of your hair. Americans do not have the high ground on this.
I'm sorry, Chris Christie, for drawing the analogy between you and a jet-puffed marshmallow, chistening you "Governor Meatloaf", and waxing nostalgic about your resemblance to "Big Boy".
I'm sorry, Sarah Palin, for...well, I'm just sorry.
I'm sorry, Representative Steve King, for writing that your nose looks like somebody's butt.
I'm sorry, Mitch McConnell, for repeating a joke which hypothesized that your parentage involved Klingons and turkeys.
I'm sorry, Hillary, that I made fun of your wardrobe. On several occasions.
I'm sorry, Rand Paul, for reviling your man-perm.
I'm sorry, Scott Walker for speculating that some of your hair transplant had defected to Megyn Kelly's eyelids.
I'm sorry, Megyn Kelly, for theorizing that your eyelids were wearing bits of Scott Walker's hair transplant.
I'm sorry, Donald Trump, for every time I said orange, puffy, old, Circus Peanut, Circus Boy, orange, goofy hair, tiny hands, orange, cheese ball, yam man, gagootz, short and stubby, orange, Cheeto, and asshole, in reference to you.
And I apologize for calling people "dickheads". Which is certainly not a gender-neutral term.
Now I ask your absolution. I have been immature and undignified. I have been ignorant and petty. I have been vile and nasty. I freely admit to all of this.
But, at least I'm not lying.
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