In comments at Sir Charles' post last night, I composed a little bye-bye toast:
Farewell, Prince Willard of the Magic Undies.
We hardly knew ye, but thy words and plans
Were to us familiar and rank.
Thou underfuckingestimated us,
How well we knew it, how we'd seen before.
Be gone now! For the commonfolk must tend
To slaking thirst and dancing on the tables
Until the morrow comes, when work begins.
In a conversation on the cell with Baby Brother, the überconservative:
Me: "So you heard that Mad Mitt is out, huh?"
Baby Brother: "Imagine coming home to your wife and having to say, Honey, I just blew nearly forty million dollars...".
Me: "Would that be better or worse than being Larry Craig coming home and having to admit what you just blew?"
At breakfast this morning, upon hearing one of the MSNBC talking heads discuss the aforementioned sum:
Son Two: FORTY MILLION DOLLARS? He could have bought, like...(brief pause while his math-brain does its number-crunching thing)...twenty-five Bugatti Veyrons!
Methinks ol' Mitt would need to hang on tight to his Magic Undies
in this car, especially if Mr. litbrit were driving.
in this car, especially if Mr. litbrit were driving.
Also at Cogitamus.
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