Three drinks and she’s under the Host

I’ve known MoDo was full of Rove fertilizer ever since the day her urgent message went through the Style department desperately seeking a food metaphor on deadline, but lately I’m almost feeling sorry for ol’ Howell’s golden girl. Every time she bares her teeth you want to toss cosmo-soaked Clinton kibble to her. Obama is “in danger of being too prissy about food,” she snipes? When the elitest of the elite throw polished stones, you gotta wonder if old McLame might not be our next president. He sweats. He stumbles. He is a Manly Man out of the Chimp’s mold. Someone please buy this woman a cucumber.