As Vladimir Putin continues his meteoric ascent from lowly KGB desk jockey to giant axe-wielding democracy-defiler, many of us may find ourselves wondering whether the people we know and love are secretly playing for Team Russia. For example, my colleague Patrick Baker. He’s got unusually small hands and shifty eyes. And he’s never not in the bathroom. There simply isn’t enough room in the large intestine for all the potty breaks that guy purports to take. (FYI Pat: the Febreeze isn’t in there for decoration.)
The first thought I have, passing through the main entrance of the Georgia World Convention Center for the National Rifle Association’s annual meeting in Atlanta, is that I must be crazy, because I’m hearing voices. Well, a voice — a drawled, gravy-dipped bass that sounds distinctly like an enticement… or a threat.