Showing results by author "Will Durst" in All Categories

In which our intrepid correspondent hails a landmark occasion with a hallmark observation.

In which our intrepid correspondent really takes a tortured analogy of the relationship between George Bush and John McCain to its Outer Anthropological Limits.

In which our intrepid correspondent, full of the spirits of the season, (and much nog) doles out a few gifts to the least fortunate of us all.

In which our intrepid correspondent figuratively shoots a Supersoaker at the Olympic Torch, but with, as always, a modicum of taste. No MSG.

In which our intrepid correspondent gets his hackles up a bit, mostly because he finds himself agreeing with Justices Scalia and Thomas - and it's freaking him out.

In which our intrepid correspondent kind of gets all weepy. Well, as weepy as a hard-bitten, globe-hopping raconteur can get in mixed company.

In which our intrepid correspondent runs a mini marathon on the mobius loop of clarity.

In which our intrepid correspondent wonders aloud on how all the Republicans can talk about Reagan and change at the same time.

In which our intrepid correspondent questions the motives of Mister Magoo as he stumbles through the wreckage of his presidential campaign.

In which our intrepid correspondent scrapes the bottom of the barrel that holds our national soul.

In which our leg-weary but intrepid correspondent gropes about the ring, his face swollen from the punishment absorbed by watching the penultimate in a mind-numbing series of debates.

In which our intrepid correspondent tries to figure out whether all this brew ha ha about the sky falling is serious enough to call for a hat.

In which our intrepid correspondent wanders into the heart of the Midwest and gets confused by all the people huddling in the corners.

In which our intrepid correspondent gets a bit snarky - and yeah, we know it's not all that unusual, but forewarned is forearmed, as they say.

In which our intrepid correspondent castigates the Democrats for not being able to stir any movement across the aisle with an issue larger than Montana.

In which our correspondent tries to honor the fallen, in his own inimitable way.

In which our intrepid correspondent exhibits an unhealthy excitement over the new show of dexterous spandex mutants about to take the national stage. And he nails the dismount.

In which our intrepid correspondent waxes poetic about Labor Day. Stop. Stop. I'm getting all teary here.

In which our intrepid correspondent cites examples of why he is perfectly content not to be running for president - and of his understanding of why you probably agree for totally different reasons.

In which our intrepid correspondent makes some snarky remarks about the only race left for intelligent political discourse. Which he studiously avoids.