Hey, let’s all have some fun at the expense of Bill O’Reilly, courtesy of The Best Page in the Universe. (The title of the article, while by no means, or at least not by most means, offensive or obscene, cannot be republished at this site because it includes a word that is on that section of the admittedly old-fashioned, even archaic, publication guidelines of The Rittenhouse Review known as “the index.”)

(Made you look, didn’t I? Listen, we just don’t use that word here. I can’t, ahem, conceive of it ever entering our discourse. Actually, it did come up -- sorry -- once, that word, I mean, either at Rittenhouse or TRR, I can’t find the post just now, but the inexplicably popular play under discussion was referred to in that post simply as “The Monologues.”)

Anyway, the Best Page in the Universe essay begins:

This guy [Ed.: O’Reilly] is the epitome of narcissism, and coming from a guy whose website is titled “The Best Page in the Universe,” that’s saying a lot. If I had to describe Bill O’Reilly in a phrase, it would be “sock-sniffer.” You know[,] the kind of guy who comes home from a long day of work, his feet have been sweating all day, his socks are ripe with the pungent aroma of stale milk and wet leather, and after he finally sits down to take his socks off, but just before he throws them in the hamper, he takes a quick sniff to sample his odors.

And it just gets better from there.

By the way, does O’Reilly remind anyone else of their one creepy uncle from Long Island or someplace like that who . . . Oh, sorry, never mind.

[Thanks to J.R.C. for the tip.]