I'm much too tired to ululate. So I'll just sigh again. There.
I was going to write something today about the German government agency
that polices christian names in that country, but I'm no longer in the
mood.
Instead, I will take the opportunity to note that Charles Krauthammer
looks like death warmed over. I'm not joking. He could play a zombie
on the old Night Stalker series.
I admit to being puzzled over this. Doesn't money buy looks these
days? If not plastic surgery, or botox, or some sort of wonderdrug,
then at least an injection of formaldehyde, to slow the process. Lenin
looks fresher. I remember a horrid little story by someone named
Kornbluth, who called himself a science-fiction author but was merely a
horror-story writer, about somebody's grandfather who died but was too
stubborn to admit it, and who insisted on dining with the family as
usual, while he fell apart and ruined everyone's appetite. Finally
they consulted an old gypsy woman, or a local witch, or something, who
advised them to give him a black handkerchief to blow his nose with.
Well, when he did, and the little white writhing maggots were made
especially noticeable thereby, even grandpa was convinced to go and lie
down in his grave. One can only wonder why Mr. Krauthammer, who is
usually quite voluble in his orations on civic duty and virtue, insists
on flouting the American ethos in this fashion. Mr. Krauthammer,
please go and lie down in your grave. There's a good chap.
P.S. Highly suspicious pickles. <----NEW! IMPROVED!!
Mark Adkins
msadkins04@yahoo.com
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