Just a very brief reminder: we are still soliciting more questions for our Anonymous Hill Staffer to answer. So if you have one, lay it on us. That out of the way, let's look at our favorite comments from this week -- click on 'em for context.


* We fight the terrorists there so we don't have to fight them here... IN BED! Freedom is on the march... IN BED! We'll be greated with as liberators flowers and parades... IN BED! We're find and capture or kill Osama bin Laden... IN BED! Oceans can no longer protect us... IN BED! (This is so much fun.)

* What you can't see in the frame is the tall boy he's holding. I've done the Austin-to-Amarillo overnight trip. It's a four-beerer.

* They would be soooooo cute....wait, babies are cute...and abortion...OMFG it all makes sense now! All I needed was a bumber sticker to snap me to my senses!! Thank you reactionary right wing nut jobs! Now if I could only figure out that "Woman Needs Man Like a Fish Needs a Bicycle" one....

* Whenever she gets near the President, they start glowing like the chick's in Top Secret!

* Oh kids. Let it not be said that Wonkette Commenters are not cutting edge witnesses to history. So let me just say: I, Nasty, Brutish & Short, can personally attest that I was at Jean Schmidt's Kick-Off Party last night at the Montgomery Inn Ribs King. And I saw BOTH the Congresswoman and the "evil twin" in the same room at the same time. In the soaps, there never are, and it causes massive confusion. But I spoke to both of them. Jean was in a trademark red suit, and her sister Jennifer was in a trademark blue suit. Or maybe it was the other way around. Dude, it is seriously hard to tell them apart. But I can confirm that they are indeed two different people! Unless there is some hologram technology at work here.

* I'll never forget Dionne at that Cato reception last summer. I was standing there with Bob Reich, just yucking it up about John Derbyshire's rumored penchant for homo-erotic slash fiction or some other throwaway gossip, and in strolls Dionne in that faux green fur he loves, and that Isaac Hayes fedora. "Eege, what's going on?" asked Bob, amused. "Jus' keepin' it real n' shit," came Dionne's standard response. Something was clearly bothering him, though, because he was clearly iritated. "Why I got to have all these ho's up in my grill n' shit?" E.J. eventually confessed. "Every muh-fuhing time she rolls around, that b*tch Nicole Wallace got to be all on my junk, man, and I can't take the b*tch no mo! All with the 'E.J. baby' this and the 'E.J. honey' that. Man, she just usin' me for my pimped ride, yo. That and my fiercely incisive grasp of electoral politics. I finally said, yo, back off, and let a playa play!" He eventually lost interest in complaining about his 99 problems, and rolled out with a back-up singer for Parliament Funkadelic, who was there to play a few songs and present a white paper on ag reform in the Balkans. Look, everyone in Washington knows you can't hope to step up to E.J. Dionne, Jr. when it comes to having pimp hand. He's got it, and he knows it. All you can hope is that he'll bring you along for the ride.

* Ah, no better time that St. Paddy's day to perpetuate the myth that our war on terrorism extends to those pigment-impaled, freckled terrorists in green. Operation They Stole Me Lucky Charms comin' atcha, Bitches!

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