Some days it’s hard to slog through the series of tubes without hip waders. The amount of horseshit piled up in one tiny brief about Molto’s vacation valise was enough to choke the hungriest herd of dung beetles. Eight to 10 kinds of cheese? Dehydrated corn in summertime? Crespone salami? Give me the proverbial fucking break. Of course, I don’t blame him or his beleaguered people, though. Idiots ask idiotic questions, and you have to provide pretentious answers.