Desperate (But Not Serious) for Material

Sometimes my readers write better stuff than I do. Hell — lately you guys even write more stuff than I do. Opera Buff Ed left this in the Drinks section last night:


The past week was like that, VP. People looking for things and not finding them.

Springsteen released a new CD. Not bad, but it’s a little lame. It’s getting better, slowly, with each new listen. It’s sneaking up on me.

Andrew Sullivan is relaxing in a hammock in P’town, recharging his batteries. InstaPundit has been going strong even with nothing much to write about.

It’s August in America.

Saddam decided to invade Kuwait one August, believing, they say, he would catch us relaxing and not paying attention. So much for the advantage of heat and humidity in the history of invasions.

But it’s been a sharp August week.

One of our soldiers in Afghanistan died from a bullet wound to his chest, inflicted by the enemy. He was 26 years old. We will miss him.

Airport security people squeezed the tits of a woman who had a ticket to fly on one of our commercial airplanes. A woman in the news was made to taste her own breast milk, expressed and bottled for the baby in her arms, to prove it wasn’t terrorist juice. Or whatever.

It’s been that kind of week. I think we have more weeks like this coming. But then, one day, it will change.


Well put. Ed is one of those readers who really ought to do less emailing and more posting — on a blog of his own.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to call at least four contractors about the deck, and maybe get started on building & hanging some wall cabinets for the dry bar.

Yes, VP has put down the text editor and the martini glass and picked up a spirit level.


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