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Wolf Blitzer is supposed to interpret the world for us.
I’ve never trusted him.
I wish he’d live up to his name and just howl.
Then I might believe him.


Last week I was kayaking and my soul slithered out of my eardrum and over the side.
A pelican dove into the water, scooped it up and flew away.
Then I paddled home and turned on Tucker Carlson.
For the first time, he made sense.
We are superior, now they want to cut in front of us in line.
Why didn’t I see it before?


Laura Ingraham lives in a mirrored house.
Bing, bing, she ricochets off the glass all morning,
Then it’s off to the hairdresser, into makeup and on to the set by mid-afternoon.
The camera is on, her teeth are gleaming.
Dark brown shit comes out of her mouth.


Judy Woodruff reminds me of one of my aunts
Who lives in the northwest and never goes out in the sun.
Always a string of pearls, peach colored lipstick, jiggling triceps.
But smart. And nice.

I’d like to see Judy go one-on-one with Laura.
Grudge match, no holds barred.
My money’s on Judy.
You say nice doesn’t always win?
You say nice hardly ever wins?
I’m still betting on Judy.
It’s how I stay sane.

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