I’m not sure if you’ve noticed — although the typical National Review reader is a pretty “tuned in” sort of cat — but the United States House of Representatives is currently a gigantic, smoke-belching, sulfurously flaming tire fire that gives Springfield a run for its money. A couple of months ago, New York representative and former school principal Jamaal Bowman yanked a fire alarm with the practiced skill one only learns from juvenile truants, in order to delay a key House vote. A few days later, Matt Gaetz politically assassinated Kevin McCarthy but neglected to think too carefully about a backup plan. Lauren Boebert and Nancy Mace alike found unfortunate new ways to raise their name ID among their constituents. And now it’s Marjorie Taylor Greene’s turn for some diva time in front of the public eye on what has, by most people’s admission, become the first installment of America’s stupidest (yet perversely highest-stakes) reality television show: Catfighting in Congress.

Greene tried unsuccessfully to topple Speaker Mike Johnson mere weeks ago, of course. But that’s par for the course with her, and you will notice it was treated by all — on the left and right — as the abject publicity stunt that it was. Now that she can no longer go to the “Let’s knife the speaker!” well, it’s time to stir up some drama in front of the most convenient camera available: the one in her House committee.

The House Oversight Committee is currently considering the impeachment of Attorney General Merrick Garland (primarily for border-enforcement issues). Greene sits on this committee, which is a pity for the Republicans because she uses it as she uses all else in the House: as a means to feather her own self-regard and increase her profitable MAGA profile. Last Friday, Greene — fresh off her visit to Donald Trump in court in New York — sought to turn the committee’s business to the most pressing matter at hand: “I’d like to know if any of the Democrats on this committee are employing Judge Merchan’s daughter.”

After a pause, Jasmine Crockett (D., Texas) responds: “Please tell me what that has to do with Merrick Garland.” After another pause and some cross talk, she adds, “Do you know what we’re here for? You know we’re here for the AG?” Greene’s lip curls as she says, “Oh, you know what you’re here for,” pointing and nodding with a vinegary thin grin: “I think your fake eyelashes are messing up what you’re reading.”

Angry voices are heard in the chamber. (“That’s beneath even you!” one Democrat shouts, and, well, if he’s wrong it is only on a technicality.) Chairman Jim Comer calls for order. Greene refuses to apologize. “Why don’t you debate me?” she says to Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who’s playing wingman for Crockett. “It’s because of your intelligence.” And at that point, Crockett, holding all the high cards in her moral hand, proceeds to instantly fold them. “If someone on this committee starts talking about somebody’s bleach-blonde bad-built butch body, that would not be engaging in personalities, correct?”

Chaos ensues, not quite on the level of a boisterous session of the Taiwanese parliament but still about as crazy as it’s gotten here in years as far as I can remember. At one point, I half expected to see Ocasio-Cortez grab a folding chair and try to smash it over Comer’s hapless head to distract him while Steve the Bodyguard held the two shrieking women apart. Both Greene and Crockett are now fundraising successfully on the incident.

Now, this might strike some readers as harsh, but this story puts me in mind of one of Norm Macdonald’s most famous punch lines. If you are at risk of suicidal ideation, then I strongly recommend you never listen to Greene sneer “Are your feelings hurt?” as Ocasio-Cortez wittily ripostes, “Oh, girl, baby girl, don’t even play!” like Jenny from the Block — it will awaken dark thoughts within. And yet it all had a vague air of staged unreality about it — because everyone was acting for the camera. It was impossible, for example, not to notice how Ocasio-Cortez instantly jumped in to make herself a part of an issue that wasn’t about her — she’s not going to miss the opportunity for a moment in the spotlight after all, not one this hot — demanding over and over that Greene’s remarks be “stricken from the record” (as if they weren’t being broadcast live on television and the internet).

I would say that such trashy behavior is beneath the dignity of the House, but that would beg the question: Is this really beneath the dignity of the House at this present low point? The House is little better than a circus full of freelance clowns — a gaggle of rogue performers, some with noble aspirations but most far more sinister (as clowns tends to be). How much dignity can we reasonably expect out of a gridlocked body whose most prominent members are in Washington, D.C., not to legislate but to build their own grassroots “brands” by creating viral video moments and sparking dramatic confrontations?

I wasn’t the only person pondering this, as it turns out, because there John Fetterman was, making a similar point: “In the past, I’ve described the U.S. House as The Jerry Springer Show. Today, I’m apologizing to the Jerry Springer Show.” When the man is right, he’s right. Who among us can deny it? Congress is The Jerry Springer Show now, right on down to the kayfabe and transparent staging. (I mean, I just watched a sass-talking blonde snipe about a rival’s fake eyelashes and get called out for her bottle-blonde dye job, then I watched as both of them monetized it online. That’s it — we’re done here, folks!)

So, naturally, there again was Ocasio-Cortez, forever the bride at every funeral and the corpse at every wedding, to stumble into frame and insist once again that, really, this was all about her. Attacking Fetterman for pointing out what a clown show the hearing was, she tweeted, “I stand up to bullies, instead of becoming one. And to the women of Pennsylvania: I’d stand up for you too.”

Who even cares what she means? Fetterman was bemused enough himself, calling the implied charge that he’d become a bully absurd. (The truly absurd part was Ocasio-Cortez’s promise to stand up for the women of Pennsylvania. What does she plan to do, move? Replace Kamala on the ticket?) Fetterman himself has begun to inhabit a wonderful role in the U.S. Senate as a dissident Democrat unable to believe that this place is quite as stupid as it is. (I imagine him recovering from his stroke and returning to Congress as a disbelieving Ripley does to the Weyland-Yutani boardroom at the start of Aliens: “Did IQs just drop sharply while I was away?”) When he makes observations like this, he’s speaking for the silent majority of his party’s potential voters, and his peers would do well to listen.

Even though, like any good Republican, my natural twitch reflex when I see “blue on blue” sniping is to let them fight, one has to take Fetterman’s side here. The House is a disgraceful clown show now, and Friday’s hearing marks a new low in its abuse as a staging ground for individual self-promotion. I will end by noting that Fetterman could make his own substantive contribution to the dignity of Congress by at least trying to wear a suit to the office; but even if you accept that every politician in Washington is essentially an actor playing a public role, you have to appreciate the fact that he chose the one of “normal guy.”