The Long and Short of It

If you are like me your mailbox has started to fill up with fancy party invitations for the holidays. My page-a-day calendar does not have enough room to write down everything I am invited to. I suppose I will have to take the boss to one or two things, but she is a social zero.

At Christmastime we have to pretend that blabbery liberals are almost as good as we stout Americans are. But that is only for about a half hour or so at the office Christmas party. We sweep in with our fur coats and everyday crowns: "Hello. Happy holidays. Good bye."

At the power parties where we put on the Ritz, we do not pretend to reach out. We want to get our way in everything. We are snobs.

Poor Barney is a wreck. Karl Rove called him a stupid poodle. Barney is a Scottish Terrier. Karl Rove has a cat named Mini-Me, so consider the source. There is a lot of yelling at Barney's White House with the bipeds tripping over empty gin bottles and his grandmother, Bar. Bar and Barney. We rulers have cute names. Management once knew a Player named Cooie. She wore Dashikis and La Perla underwear.

Back to my appointment calendar. Then a massage at the club. Ta.