Friday, February 10, 2012

"Right, Auguste. I don't think we'll go to Betty Comilfaux tonight."

Betty is accustomed to hedging her portion controls on the shorter side for Friday, if Hercule and Auguste are on the guest list. It's a small game she plays with herself, enabling her to feel racy, win or lose. Heads, they come, and she's assured a social success. Tails, they don't, and she's ahead 4 shavings of truffle, for her boiled egg. But tonight, with Mr Romney having delivered himself of yet another diagnosis of his condition (I am se-verely conservative), she knows the lads will be licking stamps and jogging to the mail slot with updates for guys who don't tweet.

     But can you believe it,          Auguste:  we're in the 
     midst of the most comic          meltdown since the King 
     and the Duke, and people 
     are still not laughing.

     Possibly it's less funny 

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