Because you just know he'd do something like that...well, actually, he'd probably have Scooter do it for him...anyway, I see that Big Time is knee deep and sinking in deep shit while Scooter's lawyer is lamely playing the sympathy card. Meanwhile daughter Liz penned what TPM accurately called the equivalent of a middle school essay, a textbook example of the term "puerile," and evidently making quite an impression...of the wrong kind...among those reading and commenting (h/t Attaturk).
And tonight we will be treated to the specter of a talking chimp. I can hardly wait, and have a bottle of Bushmills ready. Let the drinking games commence. On a more serious note, I can't imagine trying to listen to Smirk Chimp WITHOUT having a drink...or four.
No comments:
Post a Comment