As Uncle Hugh used to say, “Some people get paid too much attention to.”

Why, precisely, am I supposed to care about what a freshman rep from Minnesota thinks about anything?

I’m not going to change her mind about anything because I don’t have to.

And she’s not going to change my mind about anything because . . . oh yeah, I don’t have to.

Unless I move to Minnesota.

Which I might do. I did once. I could do it again, but I doubt I’d live in her district, unless her district has a lot of large uncaught fish and places that have no people.

So I guess she’s safe from debate with an aging fat columnist.

Besides, from a statesmanship standpoint, she’s not entirely wrong.

We are now investigating activities by Russians that Israelis have gotten by with for years.

It’s just that Israelis interfere with American elections to promote stuff we generally like, or at least tolerate in sympathy with their survival.

Besides, they’re not too brown.

Russians want our luxury cars and big TVs without occasionally stumbling into some inconvenient rule of law. Like prohibitions of bribery and homicide.

The Tsar may rule in Moscow, but the Cossacks rule the New Jersey Turnpike.

But, hey, they’re not brown at all.

What did all this anti-semantic racket accomplish?

It took attention from the U.S. House passing a bill that would financially strangle lobbyists and PACs of evil, automatically register every U.S. citizen to vote and stipulate ethical conduct for elected officials.

I figure this reform could last a full lustrum before human avarice finds a way around it.

And once more, liberals got both feet stuck in one leg of their underwear and went hopping around the bedroom before falling over and crushing the clothes hamper.

Not Scottsboro

Someone needs to advise R. Kelly that, “This some bullshit!” is not a legal defense.

Actually, I didn’t know or care about R. Kelly until I watched “The Boondocks”.

If I’ve ever heard an R. Kelly song, I’ve forgotten it. Which means I probably have heard at least one.

Then I accidentally saw him self-immolate on live TV while flipping channels searching for “Peter Gunn” reruns.

It was like watching some terrible automobile crash or a Lady GaGa interview. I just couldn’t make myself look away from the horrible carnage, no matter how hard I tried.

Also, I thought maybe he was going to tear his skin off.

So why are we thrusting our thumbs at the colosseum?

We are still trying to drink the blood of the gods. Now we’ve gotten down to the demigods.

Look, the man is not his art. Otherwise, we would never have heard Wagner. And certainly not Erskine Caldwell.

And we would not have tirelessly heard of R. Kelly.

Now THIS some bullshit.

And the blood of the gods is Kool-Aid.

Why can’t man and his prosecution be left in peace.

Insecurity

Actually, I was always afraid to get a high security clearance lest I be able to find out what’s really going on.

There may be no rest for the wicked, but there’s even less for those who know what the wicked are up to.