‘Useless, Gibbering Fuckbonnets’: David Simon and Hugh Hewitt Trade Salvos in a Twitter War for the Ages

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David Simon, creator of The Wire, got into an all-night battle of attrition with conservative radio gabber and Washington Post columnist Hugh Hewitt on Twitter Thursday. While it’s unclear what, precisely, triggered the carnage, the legendarily profane producer seems to have taken issue with something Hewitt said about the impeachment hearings, and things got serious when the talking head accused Simon of being from Hollywood. We’ll let you guess who brought mothers into it.

The first blow was apparently this blindside from Simon at 10:16 a.m.

“Threaten, hunt or kill those in the first branch of American government and they can never, ever impeach you for it. Fuck checks and balances. This is excellent political theory for a republic. Rare is a perfect asshole also a pristine moron, but Hugh Hewitt is a magical beast.”

To which Hewitt replied, “Journalist, TV writer—and a superb one at that—doesn’t understand the law generally, Constitution specifically or due process at all. Fancy that. There’s a surprise every day among the TDS afflicted. But thanks for The Wire. Enjoyed it finally during the shutdown. Superb work.”

This led Simon to employ an early game quadruple-invective: “Submoronic, partisan hack—and a mediocre one at that—doesn’t understand that the Constitution expressly provides for an impeachment process by Congress alone that is not identical in structure to a criminal or civil trial with petit jurors. Fancy that. Thanks for nothing.”

Not to be outdone (as far as he knew), Hewitt called into question the crowning achievement of Simon’s career.

“Tell you what David, when you are free of mindless invective, have returned to Baltimore’s Black community all you appropriated from it and undone damage you did to the City, come on my show and demonstrate your correspondence course grasp of the Constitution. Good show though.”

This barb, however, not only had Hewitt publicly trolling for guests, but also invited Simon to employ his very dearest bon mot.

“Nah. My invective, with regard to useless, gibbering fuckbonnets, is ever mindful. And with a possible exception of Dinesh D’Souza, and eschewing all other hyperbole, you’re the dumbest rock in the Trumpian bucket, delivering a ‘show’ fit only for deadbrained mouth-breathers…”

“Of course David,” Hewitt’s rejoinder begins. “You are a redeeming Angel, a Saint among men, and not a reflexive partisan suffering from TDS who cannot understand plain language of the Constitution or admit to a David Milch envy so vast that every tweet is overwritten. Have another drink. Read a bit.”

Insinuating that a writer can’t read and drinks too much is a bold gambit, so Simon dragged out the heavy schoolyard munitions.

“It’s not yet five o’clock and your mother has me slated in for three o’clock, Hugh, so I’m gonna hold off on the shot and a beer thanks. As relentless and inventive as she is, I’ll need all my wits about me. Best,”

Hewitt parried by ignoring mothers altogether and proceeded directly to DEFCON 1, inquiring whether Simon is a “Friend of Harvey’s” and even suggesting that the scribe is from Hollywood, launching Simon into a filth-laden tirade in four parts.

“Hewitt, you hollowed-out little fucksquib,” it opens, “you’ve crossed the only rubicon that truly matters here. In your transparent attempt to cater to the beshitted and bespittled deplorati who easily squee at any half-ass trope that imagines decadent and vile elites, you have wantonly…

“…slandered me through a linkage to this Hollywood locale. If you ever get a single, lonesome fact correct in your entire fecal-flecked career of rote hackery — and that is an ambition to exceed your entire skillset — know this: I live and work in Baltimore, Maryland, where…

“…the citizenry make a point of pausing in our routine of nightly intramural violence and disorder whenever we catch the scent of a true and enduring piece of shit edging over the city line, whereupon we close ranks and hunt that low fucker en masse, bag him live…

“…then barter him off in pieces for crack vials and bags of Utz crab chips. So, yes, you dumb scrotelicking welp of a mediawhore, stay where you are or keep hunting for me in West L.A. because Baltimore is not your speed, as facts and reality are not your domain.”

“Good to have you as a new friend,” Hewitt answers. “I’ll introduce you to my audience in the morning. Not sure what’s eating at you but collectively we will help you out. Full Ted Lasso for David Simon.”

“Your audience?” Simon wonders. “Fuck does any sentient soul need with a digitized shit-stable of red-topped cultists and off-brand-algorithm trollbots. Your tank is empty now. We all see it and we’ve foamed the runways for you. Just drop your mess and call it a landing, you dumb fuckstumble.”

At that point, since people were publicly saying things, obviously George Conway got a word in: “he seems annoyed, but creatively so”

After the long night of insults, Hewitt greeted the new day with, “Good Friday AM to you. It is Day ! of our ‘What’s Up with David Simon?’ series. (Read his timeline at @AoDepair for background.) Plus @MarcoRubio, @RepMariaSalazar @SonnyBunch. Already heard from two Simon-colleagues about the fellow. Interesting case.”

This got Simon musing about Hewitt’s true motives.

“There is no such thing as normal and I have learned to resist kink-shaming folks. So if this much-flagellated mook keeps coming back because the dynamic is now psychosexual, I’ll try hard to respect that. A man, after all, is just a man.”

The hostilities came to an end around mid-afternoon Friday—at least for now…


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