It is somewhat painful, and somewhat amusing, to have watched the precipitous decline in Jim Duncan’s columns over the recent years.
Long ago, in a column Tom Wicker wrote for the L.A. Times (with which Mr. Duncan is no doubt familiar), there appeared a risible observation, ungrammartical by Mr. Wicker’s mordant design, of Poppy Bush.
I will pay homage to Mr. Wicker by adducing a variant of that line, substituting Jim Duncan for Poppy Bush, and some gawdawful old St. Louis Post-Dispatch writers for the other politicians Wicker used:
“Jim Duncan thinks he’s some combination of Hunter S. Thompson and Johnny Apple, but in reality, we must suggest he isn’t even Elaine Viets, nor Bill McClellen neither.” [sic]
It is somewhat painful, and somewhat amusing, to have watched the precipitous decline in Jim Duncan’s columns over the recent years.
Long ago, in a column Tom Wicker wrote for the L.A. Times (with which Mr. Duncan is no doubt familiar), there appeared a risible observation, ungrammartical by Mr. Wicker’s mordant design, of Poppy Bush.
I will pay homage to Mr. Wicker by adducing a variant of that line, substituting Jim Duncan for Poppy Bush, and some gawdawful old St. Louis Post-Dispatch writers for the other politicians Wicker used:
“Jim Duncan thinks he’s some combination of Hunter S. Thompson and Johnny Apple, but in reality, we must suggest he isn’t even Elaine Viets, nor Bill McClellen neither.” [sic]