Harriet. Sweet Harriet.

Hard-hearted harbinger of haggis...

I just had to get that out of my system before she goes away forever. Poor, sweet, innocent Harriet Miers. She couldn’t take the heat, so she got out of the metaphorical kitchen. More accurately, she was tired of crying herself to sleep every night because of the meanies in the newsrooms and the Senate. Or perhaps even more accurately, Bush finally came to terms with the notion that just because she’s his BFF, doesn’t mean that she’s our BFF. But I’m sure he told her she did a “heckuva job” before he slammed the door in her face.

Indeed she did.

Then it’s back to business. “Turd Blossom! Get in here! What the… Nancy, where in tarnation is Karl, dammit!”

“He’s in a meeting with his lawyers, sir.”