By David Was
Woke up, dragged my unkempt ass to the curb and hauled in the daily paper. I don't need literary stimulation this early in
the morning, so I peruse the numbers first -- how many dead, how many touchdowns, how much the Dow- Jones tumbled. Easy stuff.
Nope, don't wanna have my nerves jangled yet by analysis and commentary and the nine other degrees of fatuity and kowtowing that
one encounters in the sad rag that passes for a paper here in Boss Angeles.
Problem is, as the pundits have long...