What You Interpreted To Be Insider Arrogance Was Only Gastrointestinal Buildup
By Chuck Schumer,
I'm going to sum it up for you: Constipation. That's it. Limbaugh's an idiot. Hannity's a raised-pitch doofus. I had absolutely no idea what was going to come down the pike with the Fitzgerald investigation, and I'm truly sorry if I gave the impression that I did, but can I help it if my visible attempts to stem unsolicited prairie-dogging during the Sunday talk rounds is misinterpreted to mean I'd be happy with Karl Rove getting off the hook?
I think not, amateurs. Get a life.
That out in the open, I would now like to retract my comments indicating my unconditional assent to "anything the prosecutor decides." I didn't mean it. I was merely trying to be congenial enough to get the producer to run back to back underwriter announcements so I could hit the can. Disc Jockeys used to have that luxury, when some colonic calamity allowed for them to derail the hot list from Donna Summer's three-minute disco hits and pepper the stacks with Peter Frampton's Do You Feel Like We Do, while grabbing a handful of coffee filters. That song was like fourteen minutes of "Nirvanic number-two."
Television is hard work. But keeping the cork in the bottle is harder, and when you factor in the extra-tiered manipulation of facts and unabashed demagoguery. You try simultaneously talking to Tim Russert while keeping Yogi in hibernation, and tell me how you haven't sacraficed clarity.