This fire, like the eye of gordian snake, Bewitch'd me towards; and I soon was near A sight too fearful for the feel of fear: In thicket hid I curs'd the haggard scene-- 500 The banquet of my arms, my arbour queen, Seated upon an uptorn forest root; And all around her shapes, wizard and brute, Laughing, and wailing, groveling, serpenting, Shewing tooth, tusk, and venom-bag, and sting!

Bill Moyers, President Johnson's press secretary, also was critical: The White House press corps is more stenographic than entrepreneurial in its approach to news gathering. Too many of them are sheep.

A new wine club called 600 Grapes asks us if we suffer from oenophobia -- a fear of wine.

Then I met a great guy, Placenta Juan the Afterbirth Tycoon. Made his in slunks during the war. (Slunks are underage calves trailing afterbirths and bacteria, generally in an unsanitary and unfit condition.)