I was scheduled to do a brief 5-minute spot on Laura Ingraham’s radio show early this morning, but I slept through it after polishing off several bottles of bourbon last night with a pair of Wyoming delegates who kept giving me grief about my surf shop cowboy hat.
I feel bad about missing Laura’s show—I sent her over a huge box of Raisinettes in lieu of a personal apology—but c’mon: how often do you get to spend time with a couple of drunk cowboys lassoing Times Square hookers with a rope made from shoelaces knotted to a half pack of cherry Twizzlers?
***
update: Hmm. Should’ve sent Laura a gyro sandwich, maybe…?
Must be the hangover, but you weren’t very clear here, Jeff. Was the bag of Twizzlers the bait, or part of the rope ? ‘Cause any real cowboy knows a hooker will chew right through a Twizzler to get free.
Must have been interesting watching Jessica Cutler “floss” with the rest of the package. I don’t even want to know what happened after that. Do I?
When I served in Vietnam, I and my band of brothers who served on Swift boats would troll for hookers on the Mekong River as we came under heavy fire from the enemy.
Did I mention that I served in Vietnam? That means that you can’t criticize me.
Tom Wolfe nailed it with “social x-ray”