Diddle diddle dumpling
Above, a retrieve from before the crisis of fall '08.
Sometimes you see more of a soul than you want or decency should permit. I find after viewing this ponderous cloud of a mind, I can take away only a shapeless emotion, a Rousseau-like pity for tubby little Brad the smart swaddled boy of Ivy privilege who has maturated into this gas-leaking tethered ideological blimp, a slightly chilly, mildly unpleasant but harmlessly sluggish university mammal, more the three-toed sloth than the orangutan of neoliberalism. Let us trouble him no more.
