It may seem pointless at this point -- Overtaken By Events -- since the Phallus from Texas is now swirling turd-like down the Toilet-bowl of History (I take the phrase from the unpublished manuscripts of Karl Marx), but anyhow, this week’s New Yorker does a number on what’s left of him -- desecrates his memory, and defecates on his corpse (an operation in which it is rather the excreta which are defiled). Which of course we deplore, while relishing.
And from the same issue of that splendid magazine, an outing of Mutt Rimney et gang; read about it here.
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