Seeing as how I could teach a course on techno-stoooooopidity, I’m surprised that my score was that high.

Seen at Cousin Jack’s.

Those who hang with me in the real world know that I never watch a football game unless I am, in a sense, part of a captive audience, such as on Sundays at the Post when the Jets or Giants (or some other pro football teams) are on the television. I don’t mind it, and, in fact, I can sometimes even get somewhat caught up in the game. I guess the bottom line is that, given the choice, I would rather occupy my time doing things other than watching football games.

Except for yesterday.

Yesterday, I found myself glued to the television in the House by the Parkway to watch the annual Army-Navy game. I’m not sure why this year was different from past years, when the game would come and go without my having paid any attention to it. Perhaps it was the result of having recently attended a wedding at West Point and having had the chance to chat with some of its recent graduates who are presently serving in the Army, which reminded me of the service that every one of those players on the field yesterday will perform following their graduation.

Of course, I was rooting for Army, but, as has been the case in the past several years, it was to be the Navy’s day. I know that it was a heartbreaker for the guys on the Army team and for the Corps of Cadets, but for me it was an affirmation of the quality of the men and women who will lead our armed forces. There were no fights on the field, no one got in a referee’s face, and after the game, each team stood on the field respectfully while the other team, along with the student body and alumni sang their respective alma maters.

Later in the day, TJ and her husband came over for a visit and a dinner out. After the dinner, we returned to the House by the Parkway watched – yes – another football game on television. This one was Rutgers vs. West Virginia. Given that each of us are graduates of the University on the Banks of the Raritan, we were pulling for Rutgers, but, as you probably know, Rutgers lost in the third overtime. I was a tough one to lose, given that Ol’ Rutgers has never been anything resembling a football powerhouse.

I’ll probably wind up watching the Giants later today at the Post. Maybe there is something to this football thing.

PRS Operatives managed to catch up with Nancy Pelosi and her driver/assistant, Lance Lovermore, as they sat down to dinner in a local restaurant. Here’s what the carefully placed listening devices recorded:

Nancy: “Do you believe this goddamned place? We’ve been sitting here for a half an hour, and no one has even bothered to set the table. There’s no goddamned table cloth, no goddamned place settings – nothing!”

Lance: “Ma’am …”

Nancy: “Shut up, Lance! I’m speaking for Chrissakes.”

Lance:

Nancy: “I haven’t even seen a sign of a goddamned waiter since we’ve been sitting here.”

Lance: “Ma’am, this …”

Nancy: “Dammit, Lance! Shut the hell up! I’m the Speaker around here, not you.”

Lance:

Nancy: “Ah ha! I believe I see the headwaiter! Garcon! Garcon! Come here!”

Gentleman: “Yes, Ma’am, may I help you?”

Nancy: “Are you the goddamned head waiter?”

Gentleman: “No, Ma’am, but I am the manager of the restaurant.”

Nancy: “Fine: you’ll have to do. We’ve been sitting here for more than a half an hour now, and we have been completely ignored. The goddamned table isn’t set, and no one has come by to take our goddamned order!”

Gentleman: “Ma’am, …”

Nancy: “Shut the hell up! I’m speaking here. I want you to send a goddamned waiter here right goddamned now.”

Gentleman: “We don’t have waiters, Ma’am. In this restaurant, you order your dinner at the counter over there and you carry it to your table.”

Nancy: “You must be out of your goddamned mind. You want me to order my dinner from a counter and carry it to the table?”

Gentleman: “That’s the way it works, Ma’am.”

Nancy: “Asshole! Do you have any idea who the hell I am?”

Gentleman: “No, Ma’am; I’m afraid I don’t.”

Nancy: “Goddamned idiot! SPEAK, Lance.”

Lance: “She is Congresswoman Nancy Pelosi, and she is …”

Nancy: “Shut up, Lance! I’m the Speaker in the Goddamned House!”

Gentleman: “I’m sorry. I had no idea. In that case, I would be happy to take your food order and personally deliver it to your table.”

Nancy: “Well, now we’re getting some-goddamned-where. I would like some almond-encrusted Chilean Sea Bass, with asparagus accented with a truffle vinaigrette, and bottle of Cristal, 1999.”

Gentleman: “I’m very sorry, Ma’am, but we don’t have anything like that on the menu here at ….”

Nancy: “Well, goddammit, what do you expect when you don’t provide menus? What do you recommend?”

Gentleman: “I would suggest a Big Mac.”

Nancy: “A Big what?”

Gentleman: “A Big Mac, Ma’am.”

Nancy: “Ah, it sounds like the chef’s specialty. Exactly what does this dish consist of?”

Lance: “Ma’am, I really don’t think you ….”

Nancy: “Shut the hell up, Lance! I’m speaking to this fool. So what is this Big Mac you recommend?”

Gentleman: “Well, it’s two all-beef patties, with a special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles and onions. It’s served on a sesame seed bun.”

Nancy: “Sounds interesting. Is this a French dish?”

Lance: “Ma’am, it’s a cheeseburger.”

Nancy: “It’s a WHAT?”

Gentleman: “He’s right; it’s a cheeseburger. We sell an awful lot of them.”

Nancy: “Listen to me, asshole. The Speaker in the House does not eat cheeseburgers. Lance, get up. We’re leaving.”

Gentleman: “I’m sorry you feel that way, Ma’am. Perhaps a McChicken sandwich?”

Nancy: “Piss off! Move your ass, Lance!”

Nancy: (while walking out the door) ”Lance, what is the name of this shithole?”

Lance: “It’s McDonalds, Ma’am.”

Nancy: “Good. Remind me to call Chuck Schumer when I get back to my office. He’s got connections in the IRS. I want this McDougals place checked out. A cheeseburger for the Speaker in the House? I’ll fix their sorry asses!

Lance: “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I tried to tell you that Mc …….”

Nancy: “Jesus Christ, Lance, don’t you ever shut the hell up? Roll me a goddamned joint, and I don’t want to see any goddamned seeds or stems. I want the primo shit.”

PRS operatives concluded that we are seriously McScrewed.