I should know better, at my age, than start any vast projects around bedtime.
I should, but evidently don't. It all started when I read Margaret Wente's column in Thursday's Toronto paper, The Globe and Mail.
Margaret created the impression that half or more of the also-rans of the social set in Toronto were engaging in a veritable orgy of butt-smooching of Conrad Black, hoping to curry favor from this notorious and insolent world-class shit disturber arriving momentarily back in Toronto, where his family has had a home for decades.
His biggest recent blunder was of course giving up his Canadian citizenship during a feud a few years ago with Old Crooked Mouth, our former Prime Minister Jean Chretien, over Black's seeking of a British title. Why anyone in their right mind would want a British title is completely beyond me, but such are the vagaries of the rich and famous, it seems. Conrad Black has engaged in a lot of sometimes dubious adventures both in and out of the media business over the years, but if he lives to be a thousand, he will never quite manage to live up to his own high opinion of himself. An opinion not shared by the unwashed masses, for sure.
Here's the poop straight from Wikipedia's poop deck.
We have to put up with the SOB in our backyard.
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