Wednesday, December 30, 2009

If Obama's lost Maureen Dowd . . .

. . . he's doomed beyond Hope:
If we can’t catch a Nigerian with a powerful explosive powder in his oddly feminine-looking underpants and a syringe full of acid, a man whose own father had alerted the U.S. Embassy in Nigeria, a traveler whose ticket was paid for in cash and who didn’t check bags, whose visa renewal had been denied by the British, who had studied Arabic in Al Qaeda sanctuary Yemen, whose name was on a counterterrorism watch list, who can we catch? . . .
Before he left for vacation, Obama tried to shed his Spock mien and juice up the empathy quotient on jobs. But in his usual inspiring/listless cycle, he once more appeared chilly in his response to the chilling episode on Flight 253, issuing bulletins through his press secretary and hitting the links. At least you have to seem concerned. . . .
Once Modo starts eyeing the exit of the Obama bandwagon, what next? Will David Brooks espy an un-meritocratic wrinkle in the president's pants?


  1. The friend she was walking with no doubt had four legs and shits in the park, in the dark of course so no clean up is required. Woof woof, baby.

  2. We having a pool when Andrew Sullivan suddenly does a brave flip and denounces the love that dares not say its name for Da One. No not just his gay crush (we know that is going on)--I mean his Tiger Beat facination with everything Barack.