Michael Wolff's Rucksack of Dross
We were so distracted by Michael Wolff's use of the word "fucking" to describe the Plame/CIA leak investigation story that we forgot to try to figure out what he meant by it being a "fucking big story." Like, has he seen the size of Cheney's schlong? Anyway, we asked Fred Becker to explain.
I heard that at one of those fancy media lunches yesterday, Michael Wolff was heard to declare that the Valerie Plame outing was “one of the biggest stories of our age.” This is undoubtedly true. I say this because I presume by “our” he means the men’s room sect of idea-free media writers consumed by mogul envy. And by “age” he means the timelines of planet Zog.
Here on earth we’ve had a couple of wars in our age. An election was contested here and the Supreme Court had to decide the outcome. A President was impeached. Oh, and they flew some planes into buildings very near where Mr. Wolff spends frantic time stitching new gallant robes of flowing pedantry.
I understand that Mr. Wolff writes for Vanity Fair—I never get past those dreamy celebrity one-handed reads so I wouldn’t know. But I am very anxious to buy the next issue in the hopes that he might give us some clues about which wardrobe to enter to emerge into the world in which he lives. I have no late summer vacation plans and apparently all that’s necessary to make the trip is a rucksack of dross.
Until my next postcard (from planet Zog!) I remain,
Your faithful servant,
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