Alan took a spontaneous three-quarter day off today, after his scientific study of lake levels determined that if he didn’t get his boat out of our marina today, he wasn’t going to get it out at all. Day after day, blue-sky high pressure. We had a little rain the last couple of days, but not enough. If we don’t have a shitload of snow and spring rain and maybe a little dredging, we’re going to have to find a new place for Lush Life next year.
Yes, I know. First world problem. But it is ours.
So, now: The debate. I’m starting to loathe these affairs. Who the hell is still undecided on October 16? If these are actually helpful to voters, I’ll eat my damn hat. So if Jeremy Epstein is worried about getting a job, all I have to say is, hey, did Mitt get a haircut? And did he just say “Mr. Gas?” Sounds like the villain in a Beano commercial.
Mr. Gas, Mr. Coal. I did not have those in the drinking game.
God, I hate this. Candy Crowley, stick your head in an oven. Put a sock in that guy’s mouth first.
What? No taxes on capital gains or dividends? Good news, Paris Hilton! (And all the Romneys!) I must have misheard that.
I can’t stand that smirk. He really does remind me of the boss who laid you off. Yeah, that guy.
I hate these 72 percent questions. Too, too reductive. But is Mitt endorsing affirmative action? OMG.
Champening. It’s what small businesses need.
I will say this: It’s good to see the prez with a head of steam again. The pension answer was great. “It’s not as big as yours.” NURSE, BRING SOME ICE FOR THIS BURN.
Tigers up by two in the sixth. Ohhh-kay.
Annnnd here comes the 47 percent zinger annnnd scene.
This one wasn’t even close. What’s your call?