Your humble correspondent’s morning typically begins with a quick perusal of The New York Times, one of the few remaining dead-tree newspapers whose prose doesn’t seem aimed at the reading level of paste-eating first-graders. Lately, however, even a few seconds with the Gray Lady sets his already-suffering molars to a hard grind. Every time he flicks to a new page, he’s assaulted by banner ads for an opportunity to meet Commander-in-Chief Obama and Pimp-in-Chief George Clooney at the latter’s Los Angeles abode on May 10.
Yes, for a mere fifteen bucks United States currency—roughly the same price a Secret Service agent expects to pay for a rocking night on the town in Columbia—you can earn the chance to stand in the megawatt presence of the two men guaranteed to transform even the most well-spoken ultra-conservative into a sputtering Neanderthal of rage. [Read more...]