Maureen Dowd and Flag Pins Will Decide the Election
Oh Maureen, Maureen! I thought I knew you! Gone now, are your glory days when you were the answer to my most pressing exigencies; when on a wall by my bed, affixed to a glass box containing a towel, hand lotion and your cherished daguerreotype nudie, you were the answer to every midnight crisis, and every 3:00 a.m. call. Gone now, are the days when every time I pass by a fire hose encasement I stop in my tracks and remember our secret covenant: “In Case of Emergency Break Glass”. I would remember your coy little monochrome grin, your inviting, ample bosom, your freakishly enormous pudenda, beckoning me behind a similarly marked glass. How many times did I shatter that glass with a mighty swing of my love sausage? I can’t count that high. […]
