Every other news cycle, when any particular quake related to someone saying something stupid or disagreeable or out of touch or oftentimes simply oversharey occurs, it triggers a recurrent tsunami of contemplation of why any of us in the industry are on the hellsite at all.

Ioine with me now in this my meane eſtate, […] And when my name and honor ſhall be ſpread, As far as Boreas claps his braſen wings, Or faire Botëes ſends his cheerefull light. Then ſhalt thou be Competitor with me, And ſit with Tamburlaine in all his maieſtie.

The next six hours consisted of 40-something-year-old TwiMoms who couldn't wait to get a glance of Carlisle, rude people trying to cut in line, and an insane lady bringing her fussy baby who wouldn't stop crying.

Bush kept pushing tax-cutting as a panacea a la Reaganomics and Kennedynomics.