Want to write a puff piece about the fake Indian, Elizabeth Warren?

Take a ticket!

It used to be that the Boston Globe practically had a monopoly on slobbering, unctuous flattery of the erstwhile Native American, the first woman of color at Harvard, emeritus.

It wasn’t enough for the Boring Broadsheet to pretend that the New England Historical and Genealogical Society hadn’t busted her melanin-impaired grift, or to peddle fake statistics about her scam DNA test. No, the bow-tied bumkissers also penned hagiographies of her dead dog (Otis), her new dog (Bailey) and her campaign headquarters in Charlestown (complete with a cameo appearance by Bailey).

But the Globe is one busy Democrat fanzine these days, what with having to break out the pom-poms for, among others, Ed Markey (he may be a doddering old fool, but he’s our doddering old fool), JoJoJo Kennedy (look, a Kennedy! And he has red hair!), and of course Seth Moulton (America’s loss is Essex County’s gain, or something).

So when it comes to open and gross cheerleading for Lieawatha, there’s an open lane, and boy, are the Democrat operatives with press passes rushing to fill the void.

The thesis is that Fauxcahontas is, well, thoughtful and substantive, plus you always have to mention, as the New Republic gushed, “her passion, her intellect and her lack of artifice.”

Here’s how Lieawatha’s thoughtful, substantive policies work: Bernie Sanders goes in front of some whining group of self-proclaimed victims demanding handouts, and promises them, say, $10 trillion.

So the fake Indian follows and says, I’ll raise you, Bernie – how’s $20 trillion in handouts sound?

This is what passes for thoughtful substance in the Democrat party these days. Where’s the bunco squad when you need them?

Many of these love-struck mash notes to the fake Indian are appearing in magazines that you assumed had gone out of business long ago. Like, for instance, GQ.

Here is GQ’s recent swooning description of the fake Indian: “Tall and wiry … she’s got that kind of pert friendliness stretched taut around a core of steel … both the chipper façade and the steel guts feel genuine.”

Steel? Surely the lovestruck scribe meant to say, “steal,” as in, “stealing some Native-American’s birthright, twice.”

And by the way, how exactly do “guts” feel? Especially “steel guts?” But wait, there’s more.

“She is a very nice lady who will put up with exactly zero bullcrap.”

Speaking of bullcrap, as embarrassingly awful as all of the above is, there’s even worse “coverage” of the fake Indian out there.

See, as worthless as magazines like GQ and New Republic have become, newspaper theater critics are even more irrelevant. I mean, theater? Who gives a bleep? And do you know who knows that better than anyone — newspaper theater critics, although I had no idea the species still existed.

But it turns out that the Washington Post sent out its “theater critic,” someone named Peter Marks, to review a speech by Fake-agawea in Tempe, Ariz. Guess what — he out-Globed the Globe.

Let’s go straight to it:

“Warren has a gift for infusing a call to action with raw, clarifying emotionality … the centrifugal emotional force of a potent soliloquy. …The vocal modulation. The oratorical rhythm. The instinct for a good story. She’s got the ingredients for a magnetic performance. And she delivers … a polished act of seduction … seductive … a holistic mission … gesturally graceful … one exuberant young man in the first row was clapping so ferociously, I thought his hands would bleed.”

I think my eyes are about to start bleeding. Does this ink-stained ham have to pay damages to Roget’s Thesaurus for the abuse of all their adjectives? He also sorely needs to attend a meeting of Adverbs Anonymous. One adverb is too many, and a thousand are not enough.

“Warren has a fully evolved performance style, one that binds her roll-up-her-sleeves biography –”

Surely he meant to say her check-the-box biography.

“… powerfully and fluidly to her average, working person’s philosophy. In a grittily poetic way, her spiel is akin to that of a folksy troubadour: She is the Springsteen of campaign 2020.”

Uh-oh, every reader familiar with this sort of pretentious, Ivy League-infused tripe knows exactly what tired cliché comes after a reference to the terminally overrated Springsteen.

And yes, here it is: Fraudazuma is a … “rock star.”

Somewhere, even the likes of Mike Barnicle and Kevin Cullen are averting their eyes from this embarrassing … bullcrap. Somewhere, in a cheese shop in Harvard Square, Bailey the dog howls in pain and disbelief. Ugh.