My Morning Retch

"Hey, [fornicator], what are you staring at?"

"Your tits.  How much for your tits?"

Whether they're the same flesh, or not, they are together the embodiment of today's brain-vacuumed liberal social commenter.  Here, for example, is one of Sarah's school girl  Huff & Puff entries: “ I’m already feeling pretty annoyed that the cheapest way I can get to Leon, Mexico for a conference on feminist resistance to U.S. imperialism and corporate globalization is by flying through RONALD REAGAN NATIONAL AIRPORT AND GEORGE BUSH INTERCONTINENTAL AIRPORT. ”  The Humanity! Donald Graham [I'm guessing] read that and instructed the nearest  minion at the WaPost to "Sign her before Sulzberger does!"     I also guessed that Sarah squeezed in a journalism degree from Barnard College amidst bouts of  world-wide liberal windmill tilting, and her biggest shock in life, so far, was discovering that anything good in the world existed before her birth, if indeed she has learned it yet. I erred.  She went to Yale, and is now 22 years old. Yesterday she endowed us with the fruit of  her life experience,   "Drinking. Brawling. Hurting." The upshot of this WaPost article is that Bush's criminal warmongering has given birth to a social phenomenon, to wit: drunken soldiers having bar fights. Which brings me to Warner Todd Huston's "WashPost: Our Wounded Troops all Drunks, Substance Abusers." He does a nice job unfrocking this dewberry.   After reading her breathless, and overwrought opener, I'm famished for a bowl of fruit.