I love how every liberal “journalist” stretches what should’ve been a 200 word summary into a thousand page book that dedicates an entire chapter to the wacky way they tie their shoes in the morning.
"At Oktoberfest, it was the best of times; it was the wurst of times. John Fetterman, the hulking junior Senator from Pennsylvania, grinned as he heaped coleslaw and french fries atop a mound of sausage. 'You gotta open the throat,' he opined with a twinkle in his eye. Nothing could have prepared me for what came next. "
You get used to it. New Yorker writers are contractually obligated to start every political puff piece that way.
I love how every liberal “journalist” stretches what should’ve been a 200 word summary into a thousand page book that dedicates an entire chapter to the wacky way they tie their shoes in the morning.
"At Oktoberfest, it was the best of times; it was the wurst of times. John Fetterman, the hulking junior Senator from Pennsylvania, grinned as he heaped coleslaw and french fries atop a mound of sausage. 'You gotta open the throat,' he opined with a twinkle in his eye. Nothing could have prepared me for what came next. "