Showing results by author "Will Durst" in All Categories

In which our intrepid correspondent relives those glory days of 1993 when Hillary Clinton was accused of being a witch but managed to prove her accusers wrong by not floating.

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 tries to explain our fascination with picking on the poor poodle person that is L.A. County Inmate #9818783.

In which our intrepid correspondent waxes nostalgic for the center, the turf of his youth, and hints darkly at its recent demise.

In which our intrepid correspondent gets a bit defensive about the steroid scandal and the leading target of the investigation.

In which our intrepid correspondent ponders the president and his love of of benches - and the whole family of flat seating surfaces.

In which our intrepid correspondent becomes despondent after contemplating the amount of corners we've seen our elected corner-turners make.

In which our intrepid correspondent questions our President's true commitment as champion of the environment.

In which our intrepid correspondent asks the musical question concerning the legions of Conservatives who continue to support Bush: who are these people?

In which our intrepid correspondent laments the corporate fallout due to the examples being set by our president.

In which our intrepid correspondent lumbers illogically through his possible six degrees of separation from a certain Al Qaeda mastermind.

In which our intrepid correspondent comments on the incontrovertible evidence of a severe case of amnesia now afflicting our Attorney General.

In which our intrepid correspondent attempts to predict the color and substance of some of the mush destined to be thrown around tonight.

In which our intrepid correspondent offers up a couple of suggestions of why to persevere in the face of overwhelming odds.

In which our intrepid correspondent cogitates that the Obama machine is running a little smoother than the vaunted Clinton machine.

In which our intrepid correspondent speaks about math, arithmetic the configuration of numbers, pure and simple and their relationship or lack thereof to our Commander-in-Chief.

In which our intrepid correspondent tries to diagnose the cause of the chasm that lies between the president and science.

In which our intrepid correspondent grudgingly admires the President for his steadfastness but then proceeds to bury him anyway.

In which our intrepid correspondent expresses his sorrow at the collateral damage these boys have unthinkingly sprayed on the name game.

In which our intrepid correspondent takes issue with the NFL's lawyers who are attempting to secure superfluous trademark protection.