I seriously have better stuff to do, but….
Paul Ryan, the Patron Saint of Austerity, Frugality, Abstemiousness, and Asceticism …. For You, was hanging out with a few of his economist bros at a local eatery, just pounding down some $350 bottles of wine over ultimate nachos and jalapeno poppers, when he was confronted by an economist lady who pointed out that it was kind of unbecoming for a Congressional leader to be living high on the hog when the rest of the country is made up of hobos living on food stamps and shriveled lime peels found in the dumpster behind the Felix Lounge. Fortunately for a startled Mr Ryan, who is not used to being confronted by the common riff raff, one of his bad-ass economist friends/wingmen told that meddling bee-yotch to “step off” or he would, I dunno, go all monopsony on her ass or something:
The clash became especially heated when Feinberg asked the men if they were lobbyists.
“F—- her,” one of them replied and stood up in a menacing way, according to Feinberg’s account. Feinberg said her husband then “puffed out his chest” in response before the manager and a waiter came over and Feinberg decided she had said her piece and it was time to leave.
Husband dude best watch it, fucking with an economist who’s had a few and is feeling all Hayekian and shit. Those motherfuckers will drop you like a deadweight cost.
Anyway, because Paul Ryan is as innocent and unsullied by original sin as Trig Palin, conservative bloggers rushed to his defense because, you know, those dreamy blue eyes, who would want to see them cry? Colonel Mustard harrumphs that people should mind their own g-damn bidness and not go snooping into others lives and then he reinforces his point by snooping into Feinberg’s life:
Instead of teaching a class at Rutgers called “Love and Money” about how students should handle their finances, you should create a class called “How To Mind Your Own Business 101,” and instead of teaching the class, you should take it …
because how other people spend their money is none of your business.
Update: I wonder how many families of four could live on the $80,000 donated to fund the Love and Money course, and for how long. I bet I know someone who could calculate that for us.
We will await his further reports about whether Feinberg has granite counter-tops in her kitchen or fancy elitist communist mustard in her refrigerator just as soon as he finds a volunteer to give him a boost so that he can peek through Feinberg’s window.
And, of course, no discussion of the grape would be complete without a visit to fermentation fan Ann Althouse who is as equally legendary for her drinking prowess as she is for her complete lack of self-awareness.
We’ve all had birthdays like that. How much does Prof. Feinberg weigh? I’d like to calculate her level of intoxication. A woman who’s drunk half a bottle of wine and gets emotionally overwrought after calculating the price of items consumed at another table by a politician she loathes should probably restrain herself from going over to that table to tell him off.
And I love the way TPM states that the lobbyist/economist at the table who stood up was “menacing.” Feinberg is the one who went over to a table of quiet diners and started interrogating them. Is this the kind of behavior TPM would like to encourage? Everyone in Washington restaurants should be eyeing the room looking for politicians they oppose, snapping photos of any expensive wine on their tables, and then — perhaps emboldened by their own wine consumption — march over and have an argument with them?
Yes, why isn’t Feinberg the kind of person who does her heavy drinking in the privacy of her own home which is helpful in maintaining a veneer of social dignity instead of making a hot mess of herself in a very public restaurant or, on a more global scale, maybe posting a video of it on YouTube?
I’ll let Mike over at Cold Fury (which is what you get when you combine a blog with a meth house) wrap this thing up for us:
Update! The screeching harpy was clearly drunk, and therefore an out-of-control, raging alcoholic, who must be marched off to a government rehab and re-education center immediately, until she is “cured.” For her own good, of course; the poor woman clearly needs help, and she ought to be forced to get it just like the rest of us. Hey, live by it, die by it, I always say.
Since Mike’s link goes to Althouse and lacks specificity, opinions differ over whom he was talking about: Feinberg or Althouse. If you are a betting person, you should probably go with the sure thing…