Doghouse, I Worship You. (Updated)

I don't like to beg. In this one instance, however, I will.

It's simply in your best interest to Doghouse Riley's post on Jonah Goldberg, which is so deliciously intricate -- and, like a fine risotto, a rare delicacy -- I shan't ruin it with an excerpt.

Know this: Scott isn't kidding when he says that the acidic Mr. Riley "achiev[es] Freddy Krueger-like heights of droll sadism — and along the way manages to cram a potato up the tailpipe of every lachrymose dithyramb to Karl Rove."

If Doghouse does not win a Koufax, life has no meaning.

UPDATE: This, too...

My mom's 81. She has atypical dementia, like her mother before her (this, then is her culpability: poor choice of DNA). She's well-off enough to afford a one-bedroom apartment in an assisted living center, where, by the way, nearly 100% of the residents have some form of dementia. She can't take care of her own hygiene. Her oven is disconnected; I can't take her flowers because she'll run water for them and forget to turn it off. She worked in a war plant during WWII, was a homemaker for fifteen years, then went back to work and paid into Social Security for thirty years, as did her deceased, war veteran husbands. Our financial advisor says the money should hold out ten years, probably longer than she will. If it doesn't, she could wind up as one of four parents in their 80s and 90s my wife and I, and our siblings, will have to decide how to support as we near retirement ourselves. I have yet to talk this over with any of them, but my own plan is to begin robbing libertarians the minute it becomes necessary.