SPEAKING OF THAT ASSHOLE LILEKS... Jimbo, onetime nuclear incinerator of New York City in his dreams, decides to try sarcasm on us instead:

Let the Red Staters spend Sunday morning in itchy church clothes at Perkins... you’re in your elegant spare little apartment with a cup of coffee (frothed on top; sprinkle of nutmeg) and a pastry from that wonderful place around the corner (okay, it’s an Au Bon Pain -- hell, they’re all Bon Pain now) and there’s some light jazz on the radio. Morning jazz, if you had to give the genre a name. Anyway, it’s a sunny fall morning -- well, noonish... Note: buy Smuckers maple syrup. Or real Vermont maple? Vermont would be better. Especially in those bottles shaped like a maple leaf, very authentic... The whole world is going to hell. Except for New York. New York is fabulous. It just has to be.

All of this begs to be read in the voice Homer used to say, "Look at me, I'm Flanders! I'm a big four-eyed lame-o and I wear the same stupid sweater everyday!"

Wonder what brought this on? My guess: Gnat's already bitching that there's nothing to do in this one-horse town. "I hate the suburbs and I hate the Twins and I hate corn on the cob, Dah-dee!" "That's it, young lady! No Battlestar Gallactica for you tonight!" What do you think?