Professor Cirba,
My mainline experience in the Philly area only comes in two flavors: Leafy, lyrical suburbs - or stuck in the arm of a dead junkie.
Don't forget what I do for a living.
I gotta admit to the guilty pleasure of tuning into lunatic sports-talk radio, once I get within 60 miles of your "Brotherly Love" down the Jersey Turnpike.
It actually makes me feel good about our homeless meth-heads out west, at least they don’t throw snowballs at Santa Claus, or are those just Eagles fans?
And Mike, as one of the guys who whines about my political snotosity, maybe you can join the Three Stooges who send me nastygrams and make it a foursome. I was thinking about designating you Shemp, but Curly was the bald one.
No matter how badly you want it to be true, no compass points true north . . . . not even yours.
Don’t forget, when the proletariat come for the bourgeoise, the only choice left for guys who brag about notching 863 private clubs will be between the gallows and a guillotine.