NY Magazine Writes a Hagiography of David Hogg That is Too Over the Top To Be Believed

Excerpts from the vomit inducing profile of a malignant narcissist.

NY Magazine-

-Like so many young men in so many foxholes before him, Hogg discovered in himself a powerful drive not to leave this Earth without making a mark. “We really only remember a few hundred people, if that many, out of the billions that have ever lived,” he told me at his house in a gated community in Parkland, ten days after the shooting. “Is that what I was destined to become?”

Foxholes??? Is this writer kidding?

First of all, in a foxhole you are armed, ready to fight back. You’re not in there making a video hoping to advance your journalism career.

Second of all, can hiding in a separate building count as a foxhole? The shooting happened in building 12. I don’t think Hogg was in that building. I could be wrong, though. Anyone?

The scene might be taught in future courses on political stagecraft. Hogg positioned himself at the head of the pack, instructed someone to fetch him a megaphone, and led a short chant — “Tell me what democracy looks like!” — striding face-first into the lenses of the backward-scrambling photographers, the sunset reflected in his sunglasses and the wind ruffling his hair.

…cyclists and runners and parents pushing strollers stopped and stared at the young man who, having turned 18, looked more than capable of achieving what he told me recently he has decided he now plans to do: run for Congress when he’s 25.

Hogg, in fact, was frequently not on the bus but traveling separately in a black SUV accompanied by bodyguards.

Hog doesn’t travel in his traveling bus with the rest of the kids. He’s in the SUV with gun toting bodyguards. lolol

 “I don’t see myself as narcissistic as I used to be,” he told me.

David went on a private tour, and Rebecca (mom) says that alumni told her, “There is the potential that your son will be the leader of this country, and we want to make sure he goes to Harvard.” Rebecca was out of her mind with pride.

“Wherever I go (college), I want to go for free, because I don’t want to put that over my parents or myself.”

“I’ve been offered jobs that are six or seven figures…”

But he wants to go to college for free.

Hogg is adjusting to sudden fame in all the ways you might expect — he wears it uncomfortably sometimes, then other times it’s as if he has practiced for it his whole life. (“He’s like, ‘I’m not a celebrity,’ ” his mother told me, “and I’m like, ‘Shut up. You’re a fucking rock star.’ ”)

Parents take on all of this? KA-ching!!!

The segment with Laura Ingraham aired live at 10:05 on Fox. It is remarkable to watch — Hogg with his stoic poise, his David Byrne cheekbones and wide-set stare, his grave expression and small impatient nods of understanding, narrating the day’s atrocities.

Hogg was so obviously an asset, a connoisseur of news cycles and sound bites, with the ability to hoover up facts and figures like his idol John Oliver and then spew them in angry torrents before the cameras.

The White House called to invite him to the president’s “listening session” on guns, and he hung up on them. He told this to Bill Maher on his HBO show, physically leaning across his friend Kasky and into Maher’s face to make his point.

Along with other kids from Stoneman Douglas, they would take a bus tour across the country to register young voters. Three legs, 75 cities, two months. The parallels to 1964 and Mississippi were unmistakable.

“I think I’ve come to that conclusion,” he says. “I want to be at least part of the change in Congress.”

At one point, I asked him whether he worries, using that language, about riling up NRA members enough that they threaten his life and his mother’s. “If somebody is stupid enough to try anything on us, that will make the movement even stronger,” he said.

he reflects on his anti-authoritarian tendencies, recalling how he refused to learn to ride the Spider-Man bike his parents gave him in kindergarten, or to take the sailing or golf lessons they pressed on him. “I would just turn everything into an us-versus-them situation,” he writes.

Also he is dyslexic. He didn’t learn to read until the fourth grade and recalls teachers “telling my parents I would amount to nothing, like I was some kind of broken toy.” He found a way to process their skepticism. “They taught me not to give a shit about what other people think — all that matters is what you think.”

“He always was an attempter,” says Deitsch, who was running the TV-production club. “He would attempt to be great. He would come into TV production like he was the president, and I’d be like, ‘Sir, I’m in charge here.’ ”

At one point this summer, I asked him if he was ever tempted by all the attention from girls his age. “No,” he answered. “They think they know me, but they only know the me that I choose to put out there. Emma and Delaney, and the people in our group — they know me. I may be a teenage boy and a walking hormone, but I just care about everybody.” Later that evening in Orange County, at a bonfire on the beach, Hogg was talking to half a dozen girls who were looking for advice on how to organize anti-gun movements at their schools. He talked about the way women get shafted at work and in culture. “Promise me you won’t take anybody’s shit,” he said. It was as teen-earnest as a John Hughes movie. Then he looked around at the blackness, the beach, the waves. “Beaches are a place for a mass shooting,” he said. “I hate to bring that up.”

Anyone else creeped out by this creep. Keep the guns away from him.