The Walkerville Weekly Reader

National Desk: Hard-hitting journalism from your completely un-biased (pinky swear!) reporters in Walkerville, VA.

Walkerville, VA
Monday, July 8, 2024
Carolyn Purcell, Editor

Dana Milbank escapes rehab

Beltway PDS-sufferer last seen in company of Atlantic writer Andrew Sullivan and an invisible moose. At least, we think it was an invisible moose. It may have been a layer of media fact-checking. Neither invisible moose nor mainstream media fact-checkers leave a trace of their passing.

Washington Post columnist Dana Milbank suffered a PDS relapse yesterday, less than one day after attempting to go “cold turkey” writing about the controversial object of his obsession, former Alaska Governor Sarah Palin.

According to Milbank’s physician, Dr. Alice Kurtz, PDS is as dangerous and addictive as a heroin habit. “It’s a progressive disease, causing intense confusion, profuse self-parody, difficulty in writing, loss of relevance, violent rhetoric, and, finally, death.”

In its initial stages, PDS is marked by obsessively writing delusional opinions about the former Governor; later, the PDS-sufferer may attempt to wean themselves from their obsession—promising not to talk or write about their obsession for the former Governor, for example. But, according to Dr. Kurtz, the final stage is marked by talking about not talking about Governor Palin.

“Dana declared a month-long moratorium on Palin articles in February,” said Dr. Kurtz. “What situation of great import did he write about on February 1 in lieu of writing about Sarah Palin? Riots in Egypt? Government health care declared unconstitutional? No. He wrote about not writing about Sarah Palin. Posted an interview about it, too. This is the final stage of PDS.”

According to Dr. Kurtz, Mr. Milbank’s last days will be marked by denying that columns under his name, written in first person, to push an interview in which he discussed his moratorium, violated his promise of abstinence.

Reporters from the Reader found Mr. Milbank today in a meth house with a writer from the Atlantic, muttering in whispers, breathlessly, about “vaginal conspiracies… the dark upriver country… the cold, the cold!”

No further comments were available from him.

Mr. Milbank then expired in a puddle of his own urine and vomit; or it may have been a column for the Washington Post. Experts have yet to confirm, and we’re not touching it.

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