So I go to the mailbox to check for new porn mags (I’m a fan of cartoon errotica), and what do I find but an unsolicited letter from Teddy Kennedy, who wants me to know that “it’s time for a change.” Here’s a bit of his pitch — on behalf of the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee — since helpfully annotated: Dear Friend, Yeah, right. […] The Bush Administration is leading

Bravo! Really. I once spent a week in the Keys — Spring Break sometime in the late eighties, I think it was — and the trip left me with two very vivid memories: first, the spectacle of my friend Jim, hungover and soaking through a city-issue orange jumpsuit, picking trash off the shoulder of Ocean highway — as punishment for having been caught on the street the night before with

Overheard at a Subway sandwich shop just outside Capital Hill, March 17: Kerry: “I tell ya’, this Zapatero endorsement is going to hurt us if we’re not careful. I mean, it’s one thing to champion pet socialist causes — that’s the luxury of being fabulously wealthy. But to come right out and call yourself a socialist like this guy does? I’m not sure that’ll play with the swing voters. Then

In case you’re wondering, I think I lost my virginity to “Thank You” (off Led Zeppelin II). I say “think” because it’s a short song, and there was foreplay involved. Oh who am I kidding. I was done before mountains crumbled to the sea. Felt nifty, though.

Guinness. No gimmicks, no shamrocks. Just dark and creamy St. James Gate goodness — bottled with my enjoyment in mind… Mmmmmmm. Say what you will about the Micks — Christ knows I have — but those potato-eatin’ bastards sure do brew a damn fine draught. So here’s to ya’, friends. Happy St. Patty’s Day! And keep your paws off me bollocks.