Well, that was quite a 48 hour period to go through to get my cherry popped. Resignations and indictments and intrigue and, of course, all of today's waiting, WAITING, WAITING! Here's what I have learned in the past 48 hours:


The Note needs to stop frontin' like they were Thomas Pyncheon or something.

Rush Limbaugh needs to sober up and realize that his squeeze looks like Steven Tyler.

Scooter Libby: soooo getting pardoned!

Harriet Miers doesn't understand that bloggers like to sleep in.

Patrick Fitzgerald's "bed in Chicago" sounds like a paradise that rivals Shangri-La.

The Democrats should end their suffering and just offer Karl Rove three times what he's being paid now.

When in doubt, bring in Butterstick. He's a content generating POWERHOUSE!

And, of course, I've learned that your regular host works very hard for your amusement, so, whenever possible, buy her a cocktail.

Many thanks to Ana and Holly and Lockhart and Henry for the privilege of being a part of this crazy week. And enjoy Halloween--I'll be going as FEMA's Michael Brown -- which means I'll be coming to the party late, bringing no refreshments, offering no help, and ordering the National Guard to use lethal force if any poor people touch the toilet paper.

You can catch me Monday, here and here. Until then, just remember what our President always says: "9-11! 9-11! 9-11! Booga-booga!"

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