Don't know what's w/ all the fucking horsecrap about this wk.'s
New Yorker cover. (Maybe irony isn't dead yet, but it's no wonder satire closes on Sat. night; Americans are too GDF stupid to comprehend it.) In the interest of equal time:

(Oddly enough, this one seems true to life, as opposed to the
New Yorker cover. Hmmm...)
A tip of the Bouffant chapeau to
David Horsey, of the
Seattle P-I.
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