Garrett:  “Wait, I know the little dude lives in a fruit.  But that’s hardly the same as sticking your spongy dork into one, is it…?”* **** (h/t Zach Bennett) **** update:  Hugh Hewitt—whose book Blog is the definitive history of the blogosphere, both past and present—seeks to defend Focus on the Family’s Dr. James Dobson from “the Blogger/MSM Mob” (which, so far as I can tell, is made up of

AS A CITIZEN JOURNALIST I DEMAND ACCESS TO THE PRESIDENT!  AND SOME OF THAT ROASTED MISSOURI QUAIL EVERYONE IS RAVING ABOUT!

A self criticism:  It turns out I’ll do just about anything for some primo cannabis—including assaulting the presidential limo (and in the process, two of his secret service agents) with a sackful of blood oranges and a single, well-flung head of cabbage.  In fact, that ding in the right rear door?  That was all me. I’m so ashamed.  And so freaking stoned.

Just after 3 PM I manage to insinuate myself into a crowd of frigid protesters, the bulk of them earnest twentysomethings—the men with spare, patchy beards and severe eyewear; the women in retro-knit ski caps and mid-length denim twill jackets buttoned over bulky wool sweaters.  To keep my cover, I participate in a poorly orchestrated chant of “hey, Bush, whaddya say?  How many kids have you killed today?”—then try my

The best place to stand to keep the wind off your face? Directly behind Ted Kennedy’s enormous head.  Like a gin-soaked warehouse with ears, that thing. Unfortunately, this doesn’t appear to be a well-kept meteorological secret.

So I’m standing along the parade route after the President’s speech (“we’re going to fix the world with freedom, blah blah blah”) chatting up FOXNews’ Molly Henneberg, who is readying herself for a live spot on Brit Hume’s Inauguration Special—when all of a sudden a cold wind gusts off the Potomac and tips one of the camera lights, a metal shutter-edge from which drops like a guillotine blade and slices

Best concert lineup since the Hansonpalooza tour of ‘98!—when surprise guests the Osmonds broke into “One Bad Apple,” and when (during an absolutely soaring duet) Amy Grant and Mike Reno started dry humping on stage. And I’ll tell you this right now:  should Restful Sabbath put a thumb in the eye of the PC crowd and break into “Peace Pigs,” my shirt is coming off, baby– decorum be damned.

Being here is like being at a big fancy wedding.  Except that I’m outside.  And there’s a heavy military and secret service presence. And Trent Lott was invited.