Chris Matthews Goes Man-Pretty On Primary Night Coverage

I will not be watchingagain anytime soon. At least not on that new flat screen. Those lips...God...Those glossy, fast-talking spittle-flicking lips...
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So I'm watching MSNBC's primary coverage on the Chinese flat screen TV my Republican brother-in-law (who's doing real well under George W. Bush) gave us for Christmas. The cable connection is really good. Chris Mathews is on screen practically having an orgasm at the prospect of Clinton and Obama going to-to-toe, spending $30 million in advertising in Pennsylvania over the next seven weeks.

The TV picture is really sharp. It's not high definition, but it's a hell of a lot sharper than the picture on the 10-year-old Sony in the other room. The spittle flying off Matthews' rubbery lips is superbly defined. His eyes are even more demonic than usual. He's glowing, positively glowing, as he talks to Pennsylvania Governor Ed Rendell.

I am drawn to Matthews' image. And not in a wholesome way. Weird.

I get up and walk across the room and stand inches from the screen. I study Matthews on a pixel-by-pixel basis (if that's what they're calling those little chunks of an electronic image these days). What's going on?

I finally spot it. He's wearing makeup. I know, I know -- everyone on TV wears makeup. But Matthews' makeup is different. It's creamier. It's almost peach colored. Matthews' makeup gives him a Cover Girl glow.

Whatever the shade of that sh*t is, it's enough to make him look like he's wearing lipstick -- a creamy pink shade of lipstick at that. Or maybe he really is wearing creamy pink lipstick. As good as the TV is, I can't tell.

And the more he salivates at the prospect of Obama and Clinton carving one another up all over the Keystone State, the glossier and creamier and more mesmerizing his lips become.

Surreal. Here is Chris Matthews, the take-no-prisoners host of Hardball, looking man-pretty in my rumpus room. And I can't tear my eyes away from those lips.

Was this something Tip O'Neill experienced when Matthews worked for him? Perhaps over lunch, in the Congressional dining room, with those lips spewing Cobb Salad?

Those lips. That make-up. That staccato delivery...

I tear my eyes away, dive for the remote and change the channel. There's a hockey game on. A game with plenty of fights and gratuitous violence. It looks really good on the new TV and in no time at all I am secure in my manhood once again.

I will not be watching Hardball again anytime soon. At least not on that new Republican Chinese flat screen.

Those lips...


Those glossy, fast-talking spittle-flicking lips...

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