It's Saturday mornning and I really shouldn't be blogging, as I have a lot of stuff I'm supposed to be doing. (Trust me, you don't want to hear about my "stuff.") But this trying not to blog when I'm not supposed to be blogging is awfully difficult, and it's a little bit like Al Pacino trying to quit the mob. Every time I try to stop, I click on links, and they draaag me back in!

Anyway, I thought I'd read Roger L. Simon's wonderful book review and be done with it. But no; I just had to click on his link to that lovable master of vituperation James Wolcott -- only to discover that the latter seems to have given Fred Thompson a promotion, of sorts. Linking the recent video, Wolcott is now calling Thompson an "Edward G. Robinson knockoff with a cigar pasted in his mug."

I like that, and I like to hope that Fred Thompson likes it too. We need a president who has fun with criticism. And Wolcott's criticisms are always fun!

(BTW, I think it was nice of Roger not to recall some of the things Wolcott has said about him in the past. When you have to repeatedly criticize a writer for his hat, it's a sure sign of despair. But this isn't about criticizing hats (or who has hair for that matter); it's about Edward G. Robinson Fred Thompson. Ahem.)

Let me back up. The last time I noticed Wolcott directing his venom at Thompson, it was to call him a "grumpy old dog farting on the front porch."

Kewl.

I like dogs, grumpy or not, on porches or not, and male or female. I even like grumpy old female dogs, but as I tried to point out last time, I think it's a good idea to avoid as many dog analogies as possible in this particular race.

But Wolcott did say that he so hoped the grumpy old dog would run, and this brought from me a me too from me too.

And now it's time for another me too! I not only reagree with Wolcott, but I'm proud to engage once again in Wolcottian pompous regurgitations. So let me regurgitate:

...anyone who can draw Wolcott's venom before even making a formal announcement looks pretty good to me.

As to "I so hope he runs," well, I say ditto to that! I find it genuinely refreshing to be able to agree with James Wolcott for once.

But which Thompson is Wolcott hoping will run? The grumpy old dog? Or the Edward G. Robinson knockoff with the cigar pasted in his mug?

My grumpy young, um, bitch wants to know.

I don't think Coco would mind my calling her a bitch because she's not running for office, and she doesn't write as well as James Wolcott.