Okay, so, one of my favorite journos — Matt Taibbi — has a piece in Rolling Stone about Cindy Sheehan.
I can’t decide if I aspire to be him, or to kidnap him a la Misery and force him to write funny shit for me all day long….
His writing makes Mark Morford look like he’s trying too hard…
Maybe I need to kidnap them both (Mags, you got the rope ready?!) and make them out-write each other all day long! Yeah!!!
Crawford, the home of President George W. Bush, is a sun-scorched hole of a backwater Texas town — a single dreary railroad crossing surrounded on all sides by roasted earth the color of dried dog shit. There are scattered clumps of trees and brush, but all the foliage seems bent from the sun’s rays and ready at any moment to burst into flames.
The moaning cattle along the lonely roads sound like they’re begging for their lives. The downtown streets are empty. Just as the earth is home to natural bridges, this place is a natural dead end — the perfect place to drink a bottle of Lysol, wind up in a bad marriage, have your neck ripped out by a vulture.