A lot has been written lately about how comedy writers are having a hard time finding humor in President Obama. “He’s just too competent,” they say.

The answer is obvious. They, on the left, are having trouble making fun of the left.

But what about us? We have a bigger problem. How are we supposed to make fun of the left?

When I get together for coffee with my fellow pragmatic, reality based, sort-of-right-wing comedy writers (many of whom still speak in hushed tones here in Manhattan, as they are still in the closet), I find I have nothing to poke fun at as I scan the morning papers. I used to relish tearing apart an op-ed from the Times or a column from Slate in front of my buddies, but lately I am left wanting. There is nothing funny anymore. One cannot parody a parody.

Here, let’s try. Take a look at this Sally Quinn article in The Washington Post, in which she “defends” Michelle Obama, after saying that “She has come under attack for exposing her arms.” (Has she? Did Sally Quinn just make that up? Could you find me someone who has done that?)

She goes on:

“Michelle Obama’s arms, we determined, were transformational. Her arms are representative of a new kind of woman: young, strong, vigorous, intelligent, accomplished, sexual, powerful, embracing and, most of all, loving.

“They are toned and muscular, burnished and beautiful. That has to be threatening to some. For some men, often, a strong woman makes them feel diminished.”

This is not The Onion. This is real. This is a real live person who makes their living writing for a newspaper. How could you lampoon this? Where would you go from here?

Oh, I guess here:

“She also has a husband who is facing more crises than any president we have had in more than half a century. He needs her support, and she is giving him that in an intelligent and thoughtful way. It’s those arms again: By going around to various agencies and talking about what the administration wants to do, she is, in her own way, embracing America.”

Do you hear a sound? Yes, it’s me bashing my head against the table in Starbucks as I read that. How in holy hell am I supposed to objectively joke about people who are in such a fog of sycophancy?

The woman hasn’t left the smallest finger-hold for a satirist to grab hold of–it’s complete in its idiocy. Am I being lazy? Read the whole article. Is there even one sentence you could add to it to make it more ridiculous?

Other than be completely embarrassed for this woman, I don’t know what else I can do. Nothing is funny anymore. I give up.