Malice in Wonderland

With the suddenly relevant North Carolina Primary but a week away, my homeland is being overrun by carpetbaggers and their cranky staff. It's gotten so bad even gentler interlopers like myself are being pressed into service, made to abandon our salsa-tasting contests and old folk rodeos for the far less creative world of global politics. Yeeesh ... Tell you what, if I'm gonna be forced to shoot a dog and pony show, there'd damn well better be a living, breathing dog AND pony on-site, and it would really help if they both wore silly hats. Still, I don't call the shots (I just bag 'em) - which hopefully explains how I came to loiter in a giant red chair this morning as Chelsea Clinton proved she's worthy of her father's love by holding up the press for a good hour, hour and a half. When the former first daughter finally arrived at the Greensboro Children's Museum, she did the obligatory walk-through before commandeering a room full of jacked-up pre-schoolers for a little drowned-out storytime. All the while, I played cat and mouse with her handlers - who seemed eager to file a restraining order on any lens that actually turned out for their little photo-op. They're just lucky I'm a gentleman; otherwise I'd have put Chelsea's thong all over the tee-vee, as she flashed it to us all, each and every time she copped a squat to hug a child. Guess I'll never work for TMZ...