A Fish Hook. An Open Eye.

Somehow MJS and I find ourselves receiving the same signals in our fillings; it's a good thing he's notagay; I suspect we'd make the most insufferable couple on earth.  Sanity Clause aside, though, I as yet hold out a halfbarrel of hope that the Oh, Brother administration will have to pack itself off to the Davos-and-Doctoral-Candidate circuit; the American people, in their infinite underabundance of book learnin, have seen fit to blame the Pump Attendant-in-Chief for the rise in gas prices, which is delightfully, poetically unfair.  Obama can no more control the price of unleaded than can the lank-haired Juggalo slinging smokes from behind the safety glass down at the Sunoco--were he to be turned out of office on account of that, we would be assured of a glorious decade of retrospective liberal angoisse; just the other day, a liberal of my acquaintance was nattering on about how Jiminy Carter never once uttered the world malaise; couldn't even spell it!--which is how I know for a fact that this is true.  Of course, I see no prospect for Archevêque Saint-Orum to beat the Mormon Tabernacle (I don't really know what a tabernacle is, but I suspect that one looks like Mitt in profile).  Which is a shame.  Because insofar as I am able to discern any difference between Obama and Mitt, it's that Mitt's kids appear to be male.  Santorum is obviously NOT the money candidate, but wouldn't it be great to see him flail around madly, trying to institute his Handmaid's Tale candyland?  Considering that the guy couldn't even beat Bob Casey, well, it promises to remain in the realm of science fiction.