THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO WINGNUTS. The lights were off at the National Review offices, and Jason Lee Steorts was having a long dark night of the soulless rightwing apparatchik. Just as he was digging the sharp spear of his Bic pen cap into his thigh to chase unbidden thoughts of Katy Perry in a ballot dress, Steorts was suddenly seized with an epiphany and, in a fevered ecstasy (or an ecstatic fever, whichever is less sexual), composed this:

Do these guys even know any normal people?