Douchebag Hurricane Swamps Wrigleyville

We had a perfectly drunken storm of: Saturday, St. Patrick's day, and eighty insane degrees. It breached the police barricades to close Clark Street. I've been through six Bull's championships, Cubs playoff games, and Presidential visits, but last Saturday was officially the craziest I have ever seen anywhere, much less Wrigleyville. Drunken idiots packed the streets and scorched my ears with drunken sarcasm about my running shorts at 3 pm. On my jog I saw that Addison Avenue contained buses full of already drunken idiots from Wrigley Field to the Kennedy Expressway and the radar showed them headed within three blocks of my house. Only an act of God could have saved us; Jesus, please turn our green beer into water! Instead, the sirens went on all night as the poison spread and the living turned themselves into zombies.

I never realized how unfun drinking really is. These people weren't good company, they were stupid and annoying. I hope they got sick as hell and learned from their hangovers not to come around here any more.

The Sky is Broken...

with 75 degree days in early March you can't tell me that there's no global warming. And this is just the beginning.

On the other hand, it's a perfect day to ride in to work, before it's too hot to go outside.

Mitt the Feckless

Once in a while you see someone use a word so perfectly that it becomes the new definition for you. The word feckless does not get used in ordinary conversation and most people don't have an intuitive sense of what it means. Luckily for all of us, in this article in TPM Josh Marshall shows us all feckless personified; Mitt Romney just can't seem to seal the deal against a weenie like Rick Santorum.

It’s like struggling to land a one pound fish or searching for the way out of a paper bag. People see you doing that and you just look weak and feckless, even pitiful.

One thing about Bill Clinton, he was always closing.