The morning is too beautiful to waste with worry, but it's too late for me, and I invite you to share my misery.
During coffee cup #2 I was wandering through the bizarre world of political journalism, sort of getting ready to plan my contribution to the art with periodic reports on the state of Iowa's caucus circus. That's where we tell you the names of acceptable presidential nominees.
The brute demographic ugliness engenders the worry.
The resulting practical advice is this: Keep buying .22s, even at $50 a brick. Don't be afraid of stressing out your Visa account, even to the point of using plastic to buy plastic, Glockenpoppers, LCPs, SR9s in recall-often calibers.
Because she's the Queen Apparent. Hillary, of course, the pants suit who promises to take things away from everyone except successful Arkansas cattle-futures traders for the common good. I personally believe that to be the only political promise of the century which she will strive mightily to fulfill.
In a walk Hillary Rodham Clinton beats every Democratic name the pollsters can fish out of the slimy rain barrel. Nominated, she beats one Republican after another, though by an apparent fluke Rand Paul betters her by a point in one poll.
So tell me it's too early to make judgments like that. You say that in politics, anything can happen? Thank you. I didn't know.
However, let's add one more sad molecule to the festering mix. At this moment, more than four out of every ten polled Americans believe that another Chicago ("You didn't build that!") pol is doing a great job of administering American affairs.
Could be you could go to $75 a brick and still find relative future happiness, 2017 through 2025.