A dear family friend, long gone (and probably not in heaven) had his own take on the old gospel song, When The Saints Go Marching In: he would sing, “Oh when the saints go marching in, it’s time for me to go marching out.” This sums it up for me.

She’s right, but oh well. I had four. I can imagine a world in which I would not do it again, because it’s expensive and grinding and will ruin you and leave you weary and broke in your old age, but it would  not be this world. Now that they’re here, I couldn’t do without any of them. Not even in my imagination.

Left behind with a good-natured dog, or swept up with Christians in the Rapture? Hmm. This is such an easy choice there’s got to be a catch.

I wouldn’t go unless the dog got to go, too.

They’re not doing this to elect Trump, they’re doing this to demoralize and discourage Democratic voters in order to guarantee a Republican Senate, much friendlier to the interests of the police/security state apparatus. The Republican majority in Congress is the silver tuna here.

In a just world—the one we don’t live in, unfortunately—this would blow back on the goddamn Republicans, big time. Anthony Weiner is a ghastly little jerk predator, but on this one, Beltway journalists have been played, and well-played, by the odious Jason Chaffetz (I wondered why he had started oozing back to life…

Jesus. And Kirk is often presented as one of the sort of less-horrible Republicans: they’ve even tried to pass him off as a “moderate,” although of course there are none of those left in the GOP after half a century of Party Purges and ideological purification.

Amazing, brilliant piece. Thank you.

I would call that a discerning and percipient description.

Rupert feels that she’s gotten above herself. A lot of this negotiation has gone on in public, and Rupert notoriously hates that sort of thing.

Perhaps the one thing on God’s good earth that could make me feel even a momentary twinge of compassion for a Republican is something like this. When your dog dies your heart breaks, proving that you actually do have a heart: it’s as simple as that.

No Democrat would have been safe from the Republican smear machine. Biden’s past is full of vulnerabilities that would have been exploited to the max by these grifters and smear artists.

Actually, this is the kind of issue that can be at least in part ethnic/cultural. I come from a culture that doesn’t touch, my husband comes from one that’s very touchy-feely. Where I see invasiveness and a breach of decorum, he sees affection and camaraderie and a sort of egalitarianism. Where I experience…

If it weren’t already half dead? Jeez a loo, when it comes to the Republican Party half dead isn’t nearly dead enough. Half dead can still rise up out of the bathtub like Glenn Close, brandishing a knife. Half dead can still be Alan Arkin leaping at Audrey Hepburn in a darkened room. Half dead is the lethal,…

Boggling at the hypocrisy? Oh, please. “Both sides! What about Robert Byrd! Chappaquidick! Bill Clinton! Liberal media! Why arencha talkin’ about Whitewater! You started it! We’re the Mary, you’re the Rhoda,” blah, blah, blah, blah, ad nauseam.

In the last day or so I saw an article somewhere about women who’d been hassled by Trump supporters. One woman described being catcalled, and telling the catcaller to buzz off because she wasn’t interested. At once he flew into a rage and told her that once Trump was elected, women like her would be forced down on…

Yeah, living in a Republican neighborhood and seeing this Jekyll and Hyde thing that happens to your nice neighbors who exchange garden goodies and cookies with you, when they talk about Hillary, or black people, or the Obamas (discovering that people do actually refer to the president and First Lady by nasty,…

Scarborough’s a major Trump enabler, and in the early months of the campaign he and Mika were fairly transparently Trump supporters. They’ve taken a little bit of a break lately, but they’re still dancing around the edges, though probably mostly in order to help the GOP hold on to its Congressional majority rather…

Years ago when the world was young I had a (married) boss who showed up at my apartment one night, drunk as a lord, eager to relieve me of the burden of not ever having had sex with him. He had been out with some of the other engineers that night, and they’d gotten to talking about me, and he thought he’d just stop by.