Do you have Convention Fever?
Have you been watching the wall-to-wall coverage on cable? Are you crotch-deep in balloons? Have you been watching pundits so long that the professorial George Will has begun to resemble sturdy Midwestern rocker George Thorogood?
If the answer is yes, your diagnosis: Convention Fever. Your prescription: suicide.
My face has broken out in hives and my skin has grown gray and clammy in what I fear to be Convention Fever. I have sent word to ol’ Doc Taft to make haste in getting here, as my heartbeat is growing shallower with each American flag straw hat sighting…
Folks, be sure to check back in tomorrow, when I liveblog my death.