The pope stole my Maker’s Mark

If it's Wednesday it must be Morford making a few observations you don't want to moss.

And I am, clearly, far from alone. Witness tens of thousands of hardcore fans wailing like alcoholic banshees at the makers of Maker’s Mark, after the company announced it was going to add a tiny bit of water to the product – you never would have noticed, silly – because it turns out bourbon’s popularity is skyrocketing and they can’t keep up with demand, and by adding a little water (thus cutting 90 proof to 84, from 45 percent alcohol to 42) they would ensure enough supply going forward.

Mistake! Blasphemy! This is America, you fools. You do not mess with semi-automatic assault weapons, fetish porn, secretly gay Republicans or the recipe for a hugely popular but not exactly world-class mixing bourbon that might nevertheless just have the best price/quality/inebriation quotient of all Kentucky bourbons this side of Woodford Reserve.
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Is this you? Are you one who likes to believe, with a jaded and weary sigh, that the world is still run by old, rich white males who loathe everything you stand for and will do everything in their power to destroy you, and there’s little anyone can do about it?

Behold, some balm. I am delighted to report that even supposedly impenetrable, high-powered Wall Street execs turn into whiny, defensive five-year-olds when a whip-smart liberal female – this time in the form of Sen. Elizabeth Warren – calls them out and pretty much tells them straight up what charlatans, fools and jackals everyone knows they really are.
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Speaking of whom. Ex-pope Benedict! Feel better, sir. Sorry to hear you’re so tired and infirm. But oh, you really were an unmitigated disaster, miserable and regressive and sort of pathetic, setting the church back a good 100 years, which no one thought possible given how far back it was in the first place.

You were, in the eyes of anyone with even a slightly progressive soul, a bit of an abject failure in your handling of the sexual abuse scandal, or condoms in Africa, or any sort of even moderate reform, a weak and ineffectual leader who invited back all sorts of vile ultraconservatives into the church folds. You’ve also made sure that your successor won’t budge the crusty faith forward a single millimeter until Jesus himself comes down and slaps you all upside the head with a giant gay marriage certificate, a Magdalene priestess and a heaven-sized bottle of Maker’s Mark. Soon, honey. Soon.

More. Go. Enjoy.