Jesus, but I can be an asshole to no particular purpose.

A youngish newspaper carrier pops round this evening as Herself and I are enjoying some adult beverages while watching Bill Maher fence with Chris Matthews, and he offers a free copy of the local cage-liner.

I say politely, “No, thanks, we don’t like the Gazette.”

Then he asks why. Bad idea.

“Because I used to work there,” I snap. “It’s a right-wing rag and the sooner it’s gone, the better off we’ll all be.”

Except for the poor sods who write it, shoot it, edit it, lay it out, print it, sell it or deliver it, that is. Ass-hole.

Kid looked like I just shot his German-shepherd pup with a 9mm KGB-issue Makarov. I wanted to confess that I used to deliver that neo-libertarian piece of Randite shit when I was his age, but it was too late. You can’t wish the round back in the pistol.

I should order up a subscription to be delivered to Namaste Alzheimer Center, where my mom snuffed it. The editorial page might make some fleeting sense there, and if nothing else, it would serve as a handy fluid-absorption tool.