“Can you smell the English leather on this guy, the Aqua Velva, the sort of mature man’s shaving cream, or whatever, you know, after he shaved? Do you smell that sort of — a little bit of cigar smoke?”
No I can’t. But I know a crazed South Boston closet queen when I see one.
And in these Coulterian times, my query is scarcely rude.
Hey I didn’t demand he suck Fred Thompson’s cock on Hardball. They’re grown men. They can find a room.
Or a sheep pasture. . .