That’s Not 'Amore'
By MAUREEN DOWD, NYT
WASHINGTON — John Boehner wakes up in his English basement apartment on Capitol Hill, his head still in a merlot fog.
It’s a glorious autumn morning, but Boehner doesn’t want to open his baby blues. He lies there, in his “Man of the House” T-shirt and Augusta National gym shorts.
He wishes he didn’t have to go to work. He reaches for his Camel Ultra Lights in his supposedly smoke-free apartment.
“Oh, Lord,” he growls. “How did I become that idiot Newt?”
He takes a deep drag as he drags himself out of bed. “My whole career was about not becoming Newt,” he mutters. “You’d think our getting bounced from the leadership in ’98, in the backlash after the last shutdown, and then the Clinton impeachment, would have taught me something.”
(More here.)
WASHINGTON — John Boehner wakes up in his English basement apartment on Capitol Hill, his head still in a merlot fog.
It’s a glorious autumn morning, but Boehner doesn’t want to open his baby blues. He lies there, in his “Man of the House” T-shirt and Augusta National gym shorts.
He wishes he didn’t have to go to work. He reaches for his Camel Ultra Lights in his supposedly smoke-free apartment.
“Oh, Lord,” he growls. “How did I become that idiot Newt?”
He takes a deep drag as he drags himself out of bed. “My whole career was about not becoming Newt,” he mutters. “You’d think our getting bounced from the leadership in ’98, in the backlash after the last shutdown, and then the Clinton impeachment, would have taught me something.”
(More here.)
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