So last night, I was tootling around Twitter when I stumbled across a picture of Liz Warren posing with one of her Warrenistas and I cringed so hard I got a cramp in my leg.
No. Honey. No. A thousand gallons of no.
I covered his face to spare him embarrassment. Though in retrospect, I probably could’ve left it alone.
If you go out in public in that get-up, I’m guessing you were born without the embarrassment gene.
But I don’t want to add insult to injury.
Hey, I know, instead of an emoji, I’ll cover his face with a public figure who, like him, is one of the Warrenistas.
That’s better. After all, Brian Stelter can take the mockery. He’s used to public embarrassment.
I’m beginning to think there is overlap between the Warrenistas and the former Clintonistas.
Remember this guy?
He turned up to see Hillary in a friggin’ Clinton onesie. I coined that look the “Chastity Suit.” Because grown men who dress like that might as well wear a sign that reads, “I have never ever had even a little sex.”
How long before the Warrenistas start wearing Liz-covered onsies?
Maybe I shouldn’t even jokingly suggest it.
But what do you expect?
When Liz Warren proudly disses men during her campaign speeches, what real men would willingly flock to her?
All she’s left with are the males of the species who lack the necessary testosterone to say, “Are you freaking kidding me?! I’m not wearing a full-body Liz Warren outfit!”
I’ll never forget the time my family went to see William Shatner perform at the Onondaga County Civic Center back in 1970s.
Shatner did a Q & A with the audience and one woman got up and actually walked up onto the stage to show him the outfit she made for the occasion. She was dressed in a flannel jumpsuit — every square inch of which was covered with images of the Starship Enterprise. I’m sure JoAnn Fabrics or whatever store she bought it from assumed that flannel would be purchased to make bedsheets for a child, not a jumpsuit for a grown Trekkie.
At least she was a woman. If a man had walked up on that stage in an Enterprise-covered flannel jumpsuit, I’d still be cringing over it.
Something tells me Liz Warren, cold, impersonal elitist that she is, was probably cringing on the inside while taking that picture. Sure, she might have feigned delight over a grown man in super-fan T-shirt. But behind the fake smile she was all kinds of embarrassed for him.
Well, at least one of them was embarrassed.
I can’t imagine leaving the house looking like that. I really can’t.
But then again, I’m not one of the Warrenistas.
Nor am I a virgin.
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