The Praise of Meryl (or, a Mockery of Erasmus)

By Stephan Duncan, Eggplant Editor

Critics commonly talk about me—and I know perfectly well what an exquisite name Meryl is, even among the radical conservatives. I’m the one, the one and only, let me tell you, who is the greatest actress to act before both gods and men; in proof of that, you can see for yourselves that as soon as I stood up to speak at this cliché awards ceremony, all your faces suddenly lit up with sincere interest—your phones recorded, and such smiles, tweets, and snapchats arose that I suddenly felt myself in the presence of so many talented and self-entitled thespians, laced with such awe and adulation, too—whereas before, you sat solemn and glum-faced, as if you had just been let out of Mike Pence’s therapy camp. But as often happens, when a certain man shows his dusty orange face over the land, or when yet another man rears his head toward a woman for the sole purpose of erotic conquest, leaving politics again mocked—just so, when you laid eyes on me, you became quite transfixed. And thus what various mediocre thespians could hardly accomplish with their long and laborious speechifying—that is, to feign empathy and interest towards all matters political and social—I brought about instantly, with just my brattish appearance.

As for why I come forth today in this Venus-esque dress, you will soon learn if you’ll just lend me your ears—not those, to be sure, that you bend towards Democratic candidates that defend your prosperity and image, but rather those that you commonly lend to Gods, Angels, and only the greatest of female icons, such as is always given to that Jenner girl. For it’s now my pleasure to transform from a thespian to a sophist for a while in your company—not the sort whose daily bread consists of providing arguments of actual logic and reason, nor the ones who spend all their time watching MMA and football. Rather, I want to imitate speakers of the world in order to avoid being labeled an odious “hack” that prefers to be protected under the blanket of “Hollywood.” Its function was to crown with highest praises the greatest of actors. Praise you shall hear, therefore, not of Day-Lewis or DiCaprio, but of myself, that is: of Meryl Streep. Nor do I care at all for those reasonable fellows, who say it’s the height of stupidity and insolence for a person to praise oneself. Let it be as stupid as they like. Indeed, what could be more appropriate than for Meryl to sing her own praises, and as they say, “protect the integrity of women everywhere, and be the icon that everyone deserves or needs?” In any case, I’m following the advice of that trite old proverb: that Meryl is entitled to publicly praise herself when no one else wants to do it.

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