From the intersections of Mulberry St. and Davis Ave., a full three blocks in front of the Virginia Museum of Science, hundreds of people gathered on October 19 on the southern side of Broad. Large “James River” buses sat on the north side to prevent pot shots at the museum that afternoon, and police had …MOAR!
One evening, I called the White House switchboard drinking and watching the news. WH: Hello. White House. TSB: Hello, may I please speak to the President? WH: . . . [hangup]Jesus, I thought. Why do they even post that number?
Behind U.S. Democratic Senate candidate Jim Webb, a mentally challenged woman, waist deep in …MOAR!
As the New York Press’s Matt Taibbi pointed out with some disdain for peers, any story shows its true weakness that could have been written in one room with a television, a Rolodex, and a telephone. So, it is with sorrow that I admit I could not make it up to the Homestead resort to …MOAR!
By the time Congress’s approval rating was bottoming out at 25% according to a Fox poll, I was seeing a whole pattern of public disillusionment. Monroe Park shined warm and bleak in the early summer sun as I paced about in stark fear of the changing winds. On April 17, Gallup had reported that the …MOAR!