Although many wish the balloonheaded high school graduate known as David Hogg would just go away already, the phenom lingers like a bad cough.
Now enjoying the 256th extension on his Warholian fifteen minutes, Hogg is the subject of an hilarious tribute in New York magazine. The piece provides a wealth of new Hoggisms that will keep the Hogg enthusiast busy for hours.
The introduction, by Lisa Miller, is pretty funny all by itself:
Will this presidential election be the most important in American history?
At 2:30 on February 14, David Hogg was not yet a spokesperson for radicalized young America or a renowned media savant or a resistance fighter or, to some, the encapsulation of everything terrifying about where the country is going. …
That the Left views this spectacularly ordinary and ungifted teenager as “a renowned media savant” says more about them than it does about him.
But give Hogg credit. Without his priceless quotes, Miller would have nothing (well, little) to offer readers.
Let’s get started. In paragraph two, Hogg has a “deep thought.”
We really only remember a few hundred people, if that many, out of the billions that have ever lived. Is that what I was destined to become?
Granted, he’s remained a “thing” much longer than anyone would have guessed, but it’s mindboggling, and a little sad, that he sees himself destined for anything other than the anonymity that comes of mediocrity. Although the Left continues to work slavishly to prop up their mythical beast, part of what keeps Hogg standing is the anti-Trump sentiment sweeping the nation. But this will end when Trump leaves office, providing Hogg with the challenge of re-inventing himself.
Miller does her best to keep the myth alive by treating the reader to a little Hogg poetry. Noting that Hogg was invited to participate in a “listening session” on guns at the White House and that Hogg “hung up on them,” she writes:
He told this to Bill Maher on his HBO show, physically leaning across his friend Kasky and into Maher’s face to make his point. ‘I ended on this message with them: We don’t need to listen to President Trump. President Trump needs to listen to the screams of the children and the screams of this nation.’
Wow! Gives you goosebumps, doesn’t it?
Miller tries her own hand at a little poetry:
The scene might be taught in future courses on political stagecraft. Hogg positioned himself at the head of the pack, instructed someone to fetch him a megaphone, and led a short chant — ‘Tell me what democracy looks like!’ — striding face-first into the lenses of the backward-scrambling photographers, the sunset reflected in his sunglasses and the wind ruffling his hair.
It is at the end of this paragraph, about a sixth of the way through the ponderous article, that Miller reveals Hogg’s new career objective. He is no longer interested in becoming a journalist, which is all to the good since he is barely able to form a grammatical sentence. His new plan? To run for Congress when he’s 25. Maybe he can even get a job working for Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who, he says elsewhere in the piece, he believes is “a future president of the United States.”
You can’t make this stuff up!
