Mary Katherine Ham is the latest darling of the middle aged men that make up the right wing blogosphere. She’s pretty, smart, pretty, well-spoken, pretty, and just barely legal. And pretty.
Townhall prints her bio but it is as dry as the Sahara and as bereft of content as a John Kerry speech. I’ve done some digging and found out the things not included in her offical bio.
Mary Kate was born into a poor farming family in the hills of North Carolina. Her roots in the deep South have, to this day, failed to have any effect on her affected French Canadian accent, however.
Her family lived way back in the hills. They were so isolated that the only time they left the farm was for church on Sunday. And Wednesday. And sometimes on Friday.
Her parents were hard working folks. Grim, hardworking folks.
Growing up, she played with all of the creatures of the wild, but her favorite was a weasel she named “France”. She slept with that weasel until she reached puberty, after which “France” would no longer sleep with her. Sad, that.
She was the pride of her one room school, with her very own dunce cap made from castoff New York Times editions. Her schooling was interrupted by an accident that destroyed the school’s only bus.
She was driving. Because of this mishap, and the others, the many, many others, she was sent to an all-girls school in England called Saint Trinians. She wouldn’t be able to get in trouble at an all-girls school. Right, Prince Andrew?
Her time there passed without any convictions for serious crimes and when it came time to choose an institution of higher learning, she chose the University of Georgia [editor – 25 rejection letters, 3 returned as moved, no forwarding]. Yes, Mary Kate is a Bulldog. Well, a Bulldog bitch. Not in the bitch sense, I mean. She’s a female Bulldog. Not really, that’s just a nickname. Not her nickname, the students. Her nickname was “Keep your skanky hands off my boyfriend!”
I’m sure she looks back fondly on those peaceful days of college.
Alas, college must come to an end, and some people even graduate. Mary Kate had plans for after college. She wanted to be a part of the arts scene, to experience life.
Sadly, an athletic injury called to a close her career as a public-street pole dancer. Her next career, as an over the road truck driver, also ended poorly.
She thought that she might have a career in stand up comedy, but a visit to the comedy club scene in India told her otherwise.
Fortunately, around this time she met Hugh Hewlitt, radio personality and blogger.
He got her into writing and blogging, and she proved to be adequate. Her style often provokes strong reactions in her readers.
Her success has allowed her to achieve a life-long dream, to open an alpaca farm. Her neighbors in the toney Georgetown neighborhood where she sponges off an elderly Congressman for a modest four bedroom townhouse are not amused.
The roominess of her digs do allow her to provide housing for her extended family, many of whom were impoverished by the Great Depression. Of 1848.
She’s done well for herself, our Ms. Ham, in her 32 years of life. We wish her well as she begins a new career, video blogging, Vblogging. Yes, I know. It’s just like television, only on much smaller screens with far less definition and jerky sound and image.