This morning in TOP STORIES I’m following: The week-old tale of Cash, the hapless Belgian Malinois whose terrible policing instincts got him canned from the Cannon Beach force before he even began. All he ever wanted was to be a cop.
All I bought yesterday was a burrito and some chickpeas. But you gorged and suckled and loudly licked capitalistic grease from your piggy fingers. It was the Blackest Friday on record.
That, despite efforts by demonstrators across the country to disrupt our bleakest annual orgy, to coax people from their doorbusting in the name of social justice. They closed malls in Seattle and St. Louis, but no amount of chanting can slow the Amazon juggernaut.
In Chicago, a man shot his girlfriend in the middle of a Nordstrom. Then killed himself.
TODAY IN PARTIAL EXONERATIONS: Ray Rice maybe gets to play in the NFL again, shocking elevator violence be damned. Heavy-handed former Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak no longer faces murder charges, hundreds of deaths notwithstanding.
It’s true that executive orders are nothing new. But the order on immigration policy issued this month by President Obama is something of a special case, involving a secret group of federal employees pouring over the law for months, figuring out just how much muscle the president can legally flex.
A homeless woman with a stun gun may be on the precipice of changing Massachusetts weapons law.
The Oregonian says it should be snowing right now.
I say we hang up tired old kickball and dodgeball leagues and all take up Footvolley. Why is no one ever playing Footvolley?
I wonder what they were pouring over the laws, milk and honey? Or maybe treacle. I just added treacle cause I’ve always wanted to use that word in a sentence.