. . . by Sunday night's presidential debate. The lede is a hoot. Its tone, typically, is pompous. Its figurative language is gloriously incomprehensible: how exactly can a spectacle ("a visually striking performance or display") slouch? And the sophomoric misuse . . .
I'm honored that you stop by occasionally to read Unca Darrell. And I deeply regret that I have posted very little in recent days. Believe me, as Mr. Trump is fond of saying, tiny right hand chopping the air, index finger aloft -- Believe me, I'm sitting on a bunch of really good stuff. Absolutely first class stuff. The best stuff ever. Everybody says so. But life is more important than blogging, and I have reached a point where . . .