Maybe he meant ho-downs.

Is omitted from the list, has intimate Trump connection, and has businesses in Moscow.

But please do get on the train with your tenor sax and launch into an ear-splitting Ornette Coleman-style atonal skronk, and then pause and say “The sooner you pay me, the sooner I’ll stop,” and then start skronking again — because I love that.

I think it’s more likely that s/he has a t-shirt with a picture on it of a cliche hipster wearing a t-shirt that says (in quotation marks) META. Or maybe a Beck 1994 US Tour t-shirt. Or possibly Foghat.

I believe the cutoff is toy- or miniature-sized trains.

Yeah, it really gives one paws.

Careful — you might get ruffed up.

While I understand & sort of agree with the MTA dog rules, the fact is that dogs need to get around in this city just like the rest of us — & some of those un-bagged scofflaw dogs are so cute, they really brighten my commute. (I’m talking to you, elderly dachshund.)

By this logic, urbanites should really replace their dogs with dog-sized ferns.

I just searched “Bertolt Brecht” in Amazon’s Home & Garden department and got forty (!) hits, including a Brecht finger puppet and all manner of inspiring Brecht quote wall plaques. So there’s that. (No Mahagonny oven mitts, however.)

Starred for “weiner-y.”

Is it just me, or are they pretty much the same guy?

That reminds me of a funny-at-the-time comment that I read before the election: “Whatever the outcome, this election will be one for the history books. Of course, if Trump wins, those books will be written on pieces of bark, by firelight.”

Reminds me of quip about right-wing criticism of FiveThirtyEight:  “Nate Silver is gay.  Therefore, math is a lie.”

“Fact-checking Trump is like picking up after a dog with diarrhea.”

Agreed, well said. I’m toward the Democratic Socialist end of the spectrum in my own hopes and convictions, but I can’t go along with the contempt & mockery of centrism on display from HamNo and some commenters here.  Effective coalition-building usually entails joining forces with people about whom you have grave…

Yeah, I think this is called for —

I’ve thought it over, and I’m pretty sure that what’s happening now is all a hallucination produced by the disembodied brain of Philip K. Dick, which is suspended somewhere in a vat full of nutrient fluids & a complex cocktail of paranoia-inducing psychoactive drugs.

Decomposing.

Steve will just have to get his Maya Angelou fix on the Kindle.