Nothing. After the Twanda affair and the likely-fraudulent donations to Republicans from a wealthy Upper St. Clair widow who suffers from dementia, the newspapers must be exhausted. There's little worth reading. If you're at work today, I suggest you visit the restroom farthest away from your office, find a comfortable stall, and take a nap for the next eight hours.
More Imus nonsense for you. I think The Onion opened a Moscow bureau. I watched a terrific roundtable on Meet The Press. David Brooks (NYT), Gwen Ifill (PBS), Eugene Robinson (WP), and John Harwood (WSJ). Good stuff about a culture of cruelty.
Dickie Scaife must be smiling this morning. His rival publisher, Block Communications, owns the PG and the Toledo Blade. A Blade photographer digitally edited 57 images last year, according to the AP.
There's a story about Bob Casey, who died seven years ago. Correction. It's a story about his son, who is a US Senator.
It looked like the Penguins might be en route to a 2-1 series lead after an intense first period. But things went to pot. If the flightless birds lose again, Michel Terrien may bludgeon Sergei Gonchar and tie him to a barbecue spit.
Auto dealer Bill Baierl is dead. He will be remembered as the only car merchant in Pittsburgh whose radio commercial is not hardwired in my brain.