The State of Shame Address


IN FEWER THAN 30 MINUTES from the time of this post, the latest in highly creative imagineering will, ironically, prevent us from seeing The West Wing. My one evening a week of blissful fantasy is invaded by the very people I am seeking to blot out of my mind, at least for one hour. Now even that refuge is denied us. I thought about stopping at NWA headquarters in Eagan to request a complimentary bushel of those little plastic lined bags one finds in the seat pocket in front of you. But I had to rush home. No time for such things. Now it is exactly 15 minutes until the English Language begins its brutalization and truth parked somewhere in the odd spot (was that P2 or P9?).

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