No harm, no foul.

I am embarrassed that John Ashcroft is from Missouri. And if all the radio stations in America want to stop playing my CD, well, tough shit. My dislike for the guy goes back to the mid-eighties when he was governor of Missouri. In those days there was an annual fund-raising basketball game between folks in the governor’s office and members of the capital press corps. I got invited because I worked for a statewide, radio news network.

When we got to the gym we learned that the governor had salted his team with a few good men from the Missouri State Highway Patrol. But it was all for a good cause so what’s a few ringers? It stopped being fun when the governor started throwing elbows and whining about getting fouled. If you’ve played much pick-up ball, you’ve run into guys like this. They get pissed real easy. Call lots of fouls but bitch if you call one on them. If we’d been on a playground, someone would have knocked him on his ass. But he knew –and we knew– that wasn’t an option in this game. Looking back, Reverend Ashcroft is the perfect guy to go to DC, cover up the naked statues, and keep an eye on everyone. I think the year was 1984.

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