There are many fascinating things about the Obamacare rollout.

Besides the schadenfreude buffet line, which Chris Johnson is doing a yeoman's job of chronicling here, here, and here.

The invaluable Ace of Spades points out the media's dereliction of duty, as they fraudulently claim they're just as surprised as we are.

If only we had some kind of institution whose primary mission it was to scrutinize the claims of politicians, contact experts, and report the major facts about major new legislation to the public.

But alas, it seems we don't.

They've chosen to be the President's Digital Praetorians, and they sense--correctly--that their prostituted credibility is swirling down the crapper along with this legislative debacle. Good.

Couldn't happen to a nicer group of whores.

Chris Johnson's temporary new digs.

Can be found here. He's having hosting trouble, and is looking for a new home for the indispensable MCJ.

For my part, I suspect that the server trouble stems from the fact the Rams are somehow worse than the Lions.

For the moment.

Skunks On A Plane.

No, really.

I'm getting a movie idea...

I said minimal gloating.

Not "none."

[Pics via Mgoblog.]

Watch out for the Sandmen, Jay.

I'm just sayin'.

Looks like someone's got a case of the Mondays. Remember, you're only as old as you feel.

Exorcism in New York.

Well, that was fun, wasn't it?

The 2004 New York Yankees now join the dubious pantheon alongside the 1942 Detroit Red Wings and 1975 Pittsburgh Penguins as blowers of 3-0 leads.

The thing is, I suspect the Yankees will have a harder time living it down. Nobody is flinging "1942" or "1975" at Wings or Penguins fans.

Yankees fans will hear "2004" with time clock regularity for, oh, the rest of this century, at a bare minimum.

Guess letting Pettitte go wasn't such a good idea, was it?

Oh, and I know exactly why Francona put in Martinez last night--it was part of the exorcism of last year. Seventh game, Yankee Stadium, Pedro holding a lead, fans showing that Yankee love: and this time, Martinez leaves the game with a lead. Francona was giving him his pride back, and it worked. The velocity on his fastball jumped about 3 mph from the beginning of the inning to the end. I was yelling "Francona, you idiot!" (I have it on good authority that all of New England has done this at some point during 2004) at the time, but I got it as Pedro pitched himself out of minor trouble and walked off the mound, a little taller. And with a lot more question as to who his "daddy" really is.

And another thing, BoSox fans: for a reasonable fee, I will happily call the play of the slumping hero of your choice "puke" right before his scheduled at-bat. As my wife can verify, I did this once during game six, and once during game seven. Right before the decisive Bellhorn and Damon at-bats. Apparently, it's pretty obvious: as I was trying to get my eldest back to sleep last night, Damon hit his second homer. I went to the living room to see the replay, then went back to make sure Maddie was all set. I explained that there had been a home run. Maddie looked up and said: "Oh. He puked?"