Letters to the Editor
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"The Prez and the land are one."
Back in the '90's, we had a president with appetite---for love, for sex, for food, for attention---born of childhood want and adult achievement; nearly the whole nation was replete. Now, the C.i.C. is a man who formerly gratified himself shamelessly, and now the entire aware portion of our polity desperately feels the need for a beer.
Someone once claimed that Henry VIII is viewed much as pagan fertility gods once were, hence the durability of the fat-man-with-chicken-leg image long after most of us couldn't identify Charles Laughton if a night with Elsa Lanchester in her prime depended on't. Poles have King Sas. When Bill Clinton dies, he will join their august company in a hall replete with wine, beer, Jack, akavit, plump waitresses of negotiable virtue, and hams. Lots and lots of hams. Ummmmmmm.